


eyes that fire and sword have seen

by Luxio_Nyx



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Is it graphic?, M/M, The Ring is a pain, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 71,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxio_Nyx/pseuds/Luxio_Nyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of battle, hearts will be broken and strength tested as the power of the Ring begins to rise.<br/>Still suffering from the effects of the Arkenstone's theft, Thorin and Bilbo struggle to overcome the evil that has risen in their midst.<br/>A new company sets out on a quest for all of Middle-Earth, but will the strength of a hobbit be enough to overcome true darkness?<br/>"The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands, love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater." -J.R.R. Tolkien</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of lingering burns

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, this was originally supposed to be a one-shot that got eaten by a plot bunny and turned into this gigantic, possibly-insane project. Anyways, this is basically a retelling of the Lord of the Rings during the time of the Hobbit, although I take the liberty of messing with canon as much as I see fit. Still, I promise that I will try and keep the characters as in-character as possible, and I'm totally open to any criticism if you think anyone is getting too OOC or something. Since a few of the chapters are already up on FanFiction.net, I'll be updating this every day or so until it's caught up, and then the updates will slow to about once a week.

 

* * *

 

_"Take him, if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him."_

Thorin Oakenshield stared up at the towering iron throne that had been his grandfather's symbol of power, his icy-blue eyes carefully avoiding the large, gaping black hole that had once held the Arkenstone within its golden clutches. He had hated the hole when the Company had first made its way into the throne room of Erebor; then, the hole had only been another reminder of the home that he had lost and the people that he had failed, a reminder that filled his weary body with a fresh rush of determination that had sent him into the nearest treasure room, his strong fingers tingling with anticipation at the prospect of restoring the another piece of Thror's legacy to his ruined kingdom under the mountain.

He could barely look at the hole now, not when the searing hatred that had once dominated all of his emotions towards that particular area had morphed into grief, betrayal, and regret.

The hole didn't fill him with determination now.

_"Farewell! We may meet again as friends!"_

The dwarf king flinched and turned away from the throne, struggling to dispel the images of kind dark eyes filled with sadness, eyes that had once made the dwarf's heart melt with a warmth that he had almost forgotten through years of loneliness and hardship. For a brief moment, Thorin allowed Bilbo Baggins to reign over his thoughts, his lips quirking into a half-hearted, bitter smile at the memory of the hobbit's final, cautious smile before he had been driven away, his tiny body half-hidden by the swirling folds of Gandalf's cloak.

"Friends," he murmured to the absent creature. "You were never my friend, Halfling."

*---*---*---*

Bilbo wasn't the first one to hear the screams.

 _That_ gruesome honor belonged to an elf whose name he hadn't bothered to remember. The stoic, pale-faced being had been one of the five or so who had been assigned to keep watch over the northern edge of Thranduil and Bard's camp the day after the hobbit's exile from Erebor. Bilbo couldn't remember why he had decided to follow them- he couldn't remember anything, really, except for the fury in the dwarf king's eyes as he dangled the hobbit over the rocks of Erebor and ordered him to leave. Bilbo flinched at the memory and instinctively leaned towards the nearest elf, causing the taller being to recoil slightly in surprise and confusion. The hobbit sighed heavily and flashed his companion an apologetic half-smile before turning back in the direction of camp.

 _There's no point in staying here with them_ , he reflected dully. _No point in staying anywhere, really… I don't belong here anymore. I don't belong anywhere… Not now._

Thorin's face swam across the hobbit's thoughts for a brief moment, his stern features softened by a rare smile. Bilbo's lips twitched despite himself and he wondered vaguely where the memory had come from before he remembered that it didn't matter anymore. He would never see that smile again…

One of the elves cried out behind him. Bilbo whirled around just as the remaining elves reached for the bows that had been slung across their backs, his heart pounding in his chest with a sudden flash of foreboding. The hobbit hurried to stand beside the line of tense elves, his eyes and ears straining against the dim light of the forest to catch a glimpse of whatever had alarmed his current companions.

Flashes of grey flesh and dark fur appeared between the trees that lined the very edges of Mirkwood. Bilbo shuddered as the piercing shrieks and wails of hundreds of orcs, goblins, and wargs reached his ears, his small hand going instinctively to the small sword that had been strapped to his hip. A cool, firm hand settled on the hobbit's shoulder and roughly shoved him behind the line of elves, causing the smaller being to yelp in surprised protest. The elf that had touched him barely spared the hobbit a glance, his gleaming blue eyes focused with a frightening intensity on the group of several dozen wargs and orcs that had started to approach them through the trees.

"Warn Thranduil," the elf murmured before taking off towards the attackers, his slim silver swords already drawn. Within moments, two of the other guards had joined their companion, while the remaining two guards drew their bows and aimed.

Bilbo bit his lip and started to run back to where he had last seen the elven king, only to freeze in place moments later, his wide brown eyes locked on the army of grey, black, and white shadows that were continuing through the forest without a second glance towards the five elves that were struggling against a their comrades. Bilbo frowned and started to follow the larger group with his eyes, his mind reeling as it struggled to figure out where the creatures were headed.

 _I need to tell Bard_ , he reminded himself. _Bard and Thranduil will know where they are going…_

The hobbit took off towards the camp, his frantic heartbeats pulsing like drums in his ears. He vaguely heard several men call out to him in surprise as he barreled past them, but he paid them no mind. Within moments, the large tent that had been erected to house Bard and Thranduil loomed up in front of him, its entrance guarded by a small horde of stern-faced elves and men. Bilbo shoved past the guards without hesitation, his fingers clawing at the firm hands that tried to restrain him.

Bard glanced up in surprise when the hobbit burst into the tent, his tanned, calloused fingers still splayed across a map that had been spread across the table placed in the middle of the area. Thranduil didn't look up from the map, although Bilbo thought he saw the elf king's shoulders tense slightly at the interruption.

"Bilbo," Bard greeted cautiously, his dark eyes widening as they took in the smaller man's flushed features and panicked expression. "What-?"

"Orcs," Bilbo gasped. "Wargs, goblins… An army of them, heading north."

Bard shoved away from the table and hurried to the hobbit's side, his hands reaching instinctively for the bow that he had left near the tent's entrance.

"Wait," Thranduil called quietly. "How do you know this?"

"A group of them attacked the guards that you had set up along the northern edge of camp," Bilbo reported hastily. "The rest kept moving through the forest… I don't know where they're going."

The elf frowned and finally looked up from the map, his expression vaguely troubled.

"How many of them attacked the guards?" Thranduil demanded.

"I don't know- more than forty," Bilbo guessed. The elf king's frown deepened, his spindly fingers twitching slightly towards the weapons that Bilbo knew were hidden within his robes.

"We need to get out of here," the elf king said slowly. "Too many of my men went with Legolas to get reinforcements from Mirkwood, and the men of Lakewood are not equipped to hold off a small army of orcs."

Bard visibly bristled at the elf's comment and opened his mouth to protest, only to stiffen when an alarmed shout reached them from the middle of the camp.

"Looks like some of the orcs got past your guards," the bowman growled. "Do you think that the rest of the army will come back?"

The elven king shrugged and started to make his way towards the entrance to the tent, twin swords already clutched in his slim hands.

"We are not their ultimate target," he murmured. "But… if their intention is to surround Erebor and lay siege to it, any of our survivors will inevitably become targets."

Bard swore and shrugged a quiver full of arrows over his head, his feet already taking him out of the tent. Bilbo followed the bowman with Thranduil at his side, his brown eyes wide with concern at the mention of Erebor.

"Wait," he gasped as the human bowman darted immediately into the bristling throng of men that were now struggling against a screaming mass of orcs and wargs. Thranduil paused for a moment to glance down at the hobbit, his brow furrowed in tension and disapproval.

"There is no time to wait, Master Baggins," he said quietly. "The women and children of Laketown need to be defended and evacuated before the army can return."

"Where else is the army heading?" Bilbo demanded. "They weren't going towards Erebor when I last saw them… And if they were, the quickest way to reach the mountain is through our camp."

The elf king spared the hobbit a quick, unreadable glance before he threw himself towards an orc that had broken past the line of defenders, his gleaming swords slashing easily through the creature's grey skin.

"There is a small army of Dwarves from the Iron Hills marching towards Erebor as we speak," the elf called flatly as he kicked the orc's limp body away. "I told Bard that Thorin Oakenshield had probably called them in in an effort to avoid paying us the ransom for the Arkenstone. If the orcs wish to surround Erebor, they will inevitably come into contact with the army of Dain."

Bilbo paled and hurried after the elf king, Sting slashing into the unprotected thigh of another orc before the hobbit could really think about what he was doing. Thranduil finished the wounded orc with another blow from his swords and spared the hobbit a pleased nod, his attention already moving to his next enemy.

"If the army reaches the army of the Iron Hills," Bilbo screamed over the chaos of orc screams and battle cries. "Will the dwarves… will they be better off than we are?"

The Elvenking stopped and shot Bilbo another glance, his eyes softening with a strange mixture of pity and distaste.

"The forces of the Iron Hills are large," he remarked coolly. "But not large enough… especially if they care caught by surprise."

Bilbo stumbled away from the elf, barely even noticing when another orc was slaughtered barely a foot away from him. The hobbit glanced around at the roiling, bloody chaos that had once been a camp, a small sigh of relief breaking through his lips when he saw that most of the orcs and wargs had already been killed. The sigh caught in his throat at the sight of the mangled bodies of elves and men that had been scattered across the blood-soaked ground, his mind suddenly flooded with images of Thorin's agonized face as he was lifted into the air by Azog's warg and thrown violently onto the rocks.

_"…if they are caught by surprise."_

How long would it take the dwarves to realize what was happening when the army of orcs reached them? How many would be killed before they could even think to defend themselves?

How many would die?

Bilbo muttered something that would have given many hobbit lasses heart attacks and cast another, frantic gaze around the camp, his sharp eyes searching desperately for a sign of the bowman.

"Bard!" he yelled when he caught sight of the dark-haired warrior. The other man whirled around and hurried to Bilbo's side, his tanned skin covered in dirt and dried blood.

"Bilbo, we need to start moving," the bowman said hastily. "Where's Gandalf? There's a valley not far from here where we can regroup and wait for reinforcements-."

"Go back to Erebor," Bilbo interrupted hastily. He flinched at the look of open shock and disbelief that the human sent his way and forced himself to continue. "Please, just listen to me. Thorin isn't himself but… he won't turn away wounded and he won't leave women and children to die." _At least, I hope he won't…_ "Give him the Arkenstone if you need to, just convince him to let your forces inside the mountain."

"And Thranduil?" Bard pointed out sharply. "Your king will never let an elf inside of their mountain."

"He might," Bilbo argued desperately. "Please, there's no other place where you can defend yourselves against an army, and Mirkwood is too far away."

"Thranduil said that Erebor was the orc army's target," Bard reminded him stonily. "What if we just ran to Mirkwood while our enemies are distracted by their siege on the mountain?"

Bilbo flinched at the thought and flashed the man a fierce glare. He didn't have time for this… the more he waited, the closer the orc army was getting to Thorin's kin…

"Do what you must, then," he snapped. "But if you do go to Erebor, tell Thorin-." The hobbit broke off with a small shudder, his mind flooded with images of the dwarf king's furious gaze. He bit his lip and turned away, his hands clenching tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Tell him I'm sorry, for everything…"

"Where are you going?" Bard demanded, his voice rising in surprise and concern when the hobbit began to make his way out of the camp.

"I need to warn the dwarves of the Iron Hills," Bilbo shouted back. "They need to know what's coming for them."

"Bilbo, the orcs will already be attacking them by the time you reach their camp," Bard snapped. "You won't be able to save them."

Bilbo ignored the bowman and started to run, his fingers slipping into his pocket to fasten around the cold metal ring that he had taken from Gollum, images of Thorin's smile flashing through his mind.

_I'm sorry, Thorin…_

*---*---*---*

"Thorin!"

Thorin jerked in surprise at the sound of his eldest nephew's voice and slowly lowered Orcrist to the ground, his other hand still wrapped around the soiled cloth that he had been using to clean the elven blade. Fíli and Kíli, along with Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Ori, had refused to speak to him since Bilbo's exile, and even Balin had become noticeably cooler in his interactions with the dwarf king.

"Fíli?" he called cautiously.

The younger dwarf shifted uneasily in the entrance to the ruined chambers that Thorin had claimed as his own, his hazel eyes wary beneath his golden hair. The heir to the throne of Erebor quickly glanced down at his feet when he met his uncle's gaze, his shoulders tense.

"Dwalin and Ori said that the men and women of Laketown are coming up to the walls," he reported tersely. "Along with about a dozen elves. They want to know if we will provide them with sanctuary."

Thorin frowned and got to his feet, wondering if he had misunderstood.

"The men and elves who robbed us of the Arkenstone and threatened us with war are asking us for sanctuary?" he repeated.

Fíli stiffened at the mention of the stone that had caused them so much grief but nodded. Thorin stared at his nephew, his mind reeling.

"What do they want sanctuary from?" he demanded.

"They said that an orc army attacked them before moving north," Fíli explained slowly. "Thranduil apparently believes that they will come back, and Bard insists that it will be safer for all of us if we create an alliance."

"Oh, is that all he wants?" Thorin spat. _They probably just want our gold again…_ he thought savagely, choosing to ignore the memory of Bilbo's tearful, indignant face as the hobbit explained that he had only taken the Arkenstone to avoid war.

"Thorin," Fíli whispered fervently. "Many of them are wounded, and they have women and children with them. We can't leave them out there to fend for themselves against an orc attack."

"How do we know that there was an orc attack?" Thorin shot back. "More importantly, how do we know that these orcs will actually come back?"

"Send a raven to Dain, then, and ask him if he's seen anything," his nephew snapped. "We'll keep an eye on the men and elves until we know that they're telling the truth, but please, Thorin, just let them in."

"A true king would not let his enemies inside of his home-," Thorin began.

"A true king wouldn't leave innocent people to die," Fíli snapped. "Bilbo is with them! Are you really willing to sit back and watch him be killed after everything that he did? The men of Laketown gave us food and shelter after our escape from the elves; Bard killed Smaug, for Aule's sake! Would you leave them to die because you're too paranoid to remember the kindness that others have shown to you?"

Thorin was silent. For one brief, savage moment, the dwarf king was tempted to ignore his nephew, to order his company to lock their doors against the thieving, dishonest men of Laketown and their elven allies. Then he thought of Bilbo, of the small, tentative smile that the hobbit had given him when he promised to help the dwarves take back their homeland, the fierce expression on his face as he threw himself at Azog's soldier, and the wild, desperate happiness in his gentle brown eyes when he had first found Thorin's cell in Thranduil's kingdom.

"He would have let them in without hesitation," he mused quietly.

"He let us in," Fíli reminded his uncle, not even bothering to ask the king who he was thinking of. "And our situation was much better."

Thorin sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Let them in," he said finally, his heart clenching painfully when he saw the obvious surprise in Fíli's expression.

 _Am I that far gone?_ Thorin wondered grimly. He forced himself to follow the younger dwarf into the ruined vestibule of Erebor, his hands still clenched around the hilt of Orcrist. He stopped in the shadows of the hall, allowing Fíli to leave his side and join his brother at the entrance.

Ori, Dori, and Oin had already started to help the men of Laketown carry their wounded into the mountain, while Balin and Gloin were engaged in a tense conversation with Bard and Thranduil in the far corner of the room. Thorin wondered dimly why Fíli had even bothered asking for his permission to allow the refugees into Erebor when it was obvious that the remaining members of the company already decided to let them in.

Bofur and Bifur slipped in and out of the small crowd of refugees, their dark eyes sweeping across the weary travelers with a peculiar sense of urgency. Thorin frowned and started to search through the crowds as well, looking for a glimpse of Bilbo. Would the hobbit try to hide from him after their last encounter? The thought made the king's heart clench again and he pushed away from the shadows, immediately drawing the attention of the other inhabitants of the hall. Balin and Gloin hastily made their way to the king's side, followed closely by Bard and Thranduil. Thorin offered the elf king and the bowman a curt nod, his fingers flexing instinctively around Orcrist's hilt.

"My nephew told me that you had been attacked by orcs," he muttered.

Bard nodded slowly. "He told you the truth. We were attacked earlier today by a fraction of their forces. The remainder of the army continued north, although we fear that they will return."

"North?" Thorin repeated, his muscles tensing with the first hints of dread. "Dain's army is coming down from the north."

"Indeed," Thranduil remarked dryly. "That was Master Baggins's concern as well."

Thorin flinched at the mention of the hobbit and glanced back towards the rest of the refugees, his azure eyes combing the bloodied, dirt-encrusted ranks of the crowd for a sign of Bilbo's auburn curls.

"Why did you decide to come here?" he asked, only half-interested in the answer.

"Bilbo suggested it to them," Balin informed him dryly. "Apparently, your hobbit still has faith in your honor and hospitality."

Thorin's frown deepened at the older dwarf's tone and decided not to comment on his friend's words.

"And where is the hobbit?" he demanded impatiently.

Bard hesitated, his brow furrowing with a sudden unease that immediately made Thorin regret his question.

"He went north to warn the dwarves of the Iron Hills about the orc army," the bowman said finally.

Thorin stared at the bowman, unable to comprehend the man's words.

"He went…. Alone?" he said finally. "You let him go by himself?"

Bard flinched at the expression on the dwarves' faces but nodded stiffly, his features set.

"I had to get my people to safety," he stated firmly.

Thorin swore and stormed away from the man, his eyes locked on the darkened valley that spread out beyond the doors of Erebor. Strong hands locked around his arms and jerked the dwarf king back. Thorin snarled and jerked violently against his captor, another curse escaping his lips when a second pair of hands joined the first.

"And what do you think _you're_ doin', Thorin?" Dwalin demanded roughly.

"Dain and Dis are out there," Thorin snapped. "And Bilbo. I'm going to help them."

"Aye, without any armor and armed only with a shield," Nori muttered dryly. "The orcs will run when they see you."

Thorin glared at the two dwarfs and struggled against their grip again, a low hiss of frustration breaking through his lips when his captors refused to budge.

"Let me go!" the dwarf king snarled. "So help me-."

"Thorin!" Kíli's voice called down from the wall. "More people are approaching!"

"Are they men of yours?" Balin demanded from Bard and Thranduil.

The bowman shook his head and glanced back at the elf king, who shrugged.

"I doubt that my son would have been able to make his way back from Mirkwood this soon," the elf mused.

"The banners are from the Iron Hills!" Bombur's voice added excitedly.

Thorin snarled and threw himself against Dwalin and Nori's arms, a low growl of triumph rising in his throat when the shocked dwarves released him. He ran out of Erebor without a backwards glance, Fíli and Gloin close behind him.

An army of shadows stormed towards him out of the darkness, their muddy armor and bloodstained weapons gleaming dully in the fading light of the setting sun. Thorin felt the breath rush out of his lungs when he saw how many of the shadows were being supported or carried by their companions and pushed himself faster, only to be easily outstripped by Fíli. The younger dwarf plunged into the exhausted mass of running dwarfs, his voice raised in a frantic call for Dis. Thorin flinched and struggled to keep up with his heir, his eyes widening when a familiar form detached herself from the crowd and ran to meet Fíli half-way, her loud, rough voice carrying easily above the tumult of the crowd.

"Fíli!" Dis cried, her arms wrapping tightly around the golden-haired prince for a brief moment before she pushed him ahead of her. "You little fool, what are you doing? Get your arse back into Erebor!"

"Dis!" Thorin yelled, immediately grabbing his younger sister's attention.

"Thorin!" Dis called back. "Is this foolishness your doing?"

"The orcs aren't far behind us, Thorin," Dain's voice called from somewhere over the dwarf king's shoulder.

"How many are there?" Thorin demanded.

"We cut their numbers in half, but I'm willing to bet that there are close to a thousand remaining," Dain reported breathlessly. "We'll have a better chance of holding them off in Erebor."

Thorin nodded and hurried forward to help Gloin support one of the wounded, his eyes searching the mass of dwarves for a smaller, slimmer being.

"Where's the Halfling?" he yelled.

"I haven't seen 'im," Gloin grunted.

Thorin frowned and forced himself to keep moving even as a cold, crippling fear began to settle into his bones.

The dwarf king's lips quirked up into a reluctant smile when he saw a frantic Kíli waiting at the entrance of Erebor, his hazel eyes wild beneath his dark hair.

"Mother! Fíli!" he cried.

"Kíli!" Thorin yelled before anyone else could answer. "Go with Bifur and Bofur to gather the armor. Tell Dwalin and Nori to secure the gates after we've all gone through."

Kíli nodded and darted back into the mountain moments before the first of the dwarves hurried through the entrance, their wide shoulders bent and heaving with fear and exhaustion. Thorin hastily shifted the weight of the injured dwarf onto his shoulders and motioned for Gloin to help with the others, his blue eyes locking immediately on Bard and Thranduil the moment he ran into Erebor.

"Bowman!" he yelled. "Elf!"

Thranduil raised his eyebrows but hurried with Bard to the dwarf king's side, his lips curling in faint distaste at the number of dwarves that were now crowded around him.

"Get all of your archers up onto the walls," Thorin ordered the two. "I will send all of the dwarf archers that we can spare in a moment."

The man and the elf nodded and hurried to organize their men, their eyes flickering with the tiniest hint of worry towards the crowd of dwarves that were still pouring into the mountain.

"Will you be able to get them all in before the orcs are upon us?" Bard called.

Thorin flashed the bowman a deadly glare and nodded before he darted back to his sister's side, his shoulders lifting slightly when he saw that she was with Dain. Fíli had already left his mother's side to join his brother, his golden head flashing in and out of view among the crowds as he hurried to distribute weapons and armor to the members of Thorin's Company.

"How far away are the orcs?" Thorin demanded.

"Four or five miles," Dain replied immediately. The king of the Iron Hills was just as filthy as many of his soldiers, but his eyes were filled with the fire of battle as he met his cousin's gaze. "How many of my men do you need up at the walls?"

"As many as you think we can spare," Thorin replied immediately. "The more orcs we can kill from a distance, the better."

Dain Ironfoot nodded and disappeared into the ranks of his men, his voice rising easily among the tumult as he called out orders. Thorin turned immediately to his sister, his voice faltering for a moment when he saw the sadness in her eyes.

"You mentioned a hobbit," she murmured. "Before we entered the mountain, you were asking about a hobbit."

"Yes," Thorin agreed cautiously. He waited for the dwarf woman to say more, the blood draining from his cheeks when his sister merely looked away. "What happened?"

"He came shortly after the orcs began their attack," she whispered. "At least, I think he did… No one knows exactly how or when he made his way into our camp. He threw himself at an orc that had overpowered me and told me to run. I ignored him, of course, and continued to fight but he shoved me away before I could even kill another orc. Such a stubborn little thing."

Thorin smiled despite himself. "That sounds like something that he would do."

His smile only deepened the sadness in Dis's eyes. The dwarf woman hesitated before reaching out to clasp his free hand in hers, her lips trembling ever-so-slightly.

"He told me to go," she whispered. "He told me that my boys needed me… I don't know how he even knew who I was, but… He told me to go."

Thorin stiffened at his sister's words and glanced back towards the entrance of Erebor, his fingers curling tightly around Dis's when he saw that the gates had already been shut by Dwalin, Nori, and several of Dain's own men.

"You left him behind," he guessed flatly.

"He disappeared," Dis sighed. "I'm sorry, brother…"

Thorin shook his head and pulled away from her just as Balin appeared by his side, his arms full of chainmail. Thorin wordlessly allowed the older dwarf to help him into the armor, stubbornly refusing to dwell on Dis's words. Bilbo was stubborn, unpredictable, and strong. He would survive.

He had to.


	2. and shadows rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battle comes to Erebor. Meanwhile, in the darkness of Mirkwood, a hobbit runs for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, here's the second chapter. Again, please let me know if anyone is too OOC or if you spot any errors, okay? :) Thanks!

* * *

 

It was a known fact among the hobbits of the shire that the Baggins of Bag-End, despite their comfortable lifestyle, were particularly skilled at dodging things. Bilbo had always assumed that it was a necessary trait, developed after years of dodging pesky neighbors and distant kin. Combined with the natural speed that all hobbits possessed, Bilbo had never truly doubted his ability to run away from something if he really put his mind to it.

Of course, that was before he had gone and volunteered himself as a burglar for a company of thirteen daft dwarves on a suicidal mission to reclaim a thrice-damned mountain from a dragon.

A warg darted out of the shadows to Bilbo's right, its rider barely missing the exposed skin at Bilbo's neck as the hobbit instinctively rolled out of the way. Bilbo bit back the shriek that wanted to burst from his lips and forced himself to keep running, Sting flashing like blue lightning in the darkness cast by Mirkwood's cursed trees. A deep, aching pain had begun to form in the hobbit's lungs, reminding the small creature that he couldn't keep running forever. Eventually, he would have to stop.

_At least his sister is safe_ , Bilbo reminded himself faintly, his thoughts barely audible to his own mind over the frantic pulse of blood in his ears. _At least I spared him that pain…_

Another warg darted out of the shadows, its rider following almost immediately from the opposite direction as Bilbo threw himself out of the beast's way. The hobbit barely managed to parry the orc's blade with Sting, his arms shaking infinitesimally with the effort of pushing the larger weapon away. The orc seemed to smile at his weakness and lashed out again, a savage roar of triumphant breaking through its nonexistent lips when the serrated edge sliced through Bilbo's ragged tunic. Bilbo staggered and stared at the small rose of scarlet that had begun to bloom across the stained blue fabric, his lungs heaving in a sudden, frantic effort to draw in oxygen. Before he could think, the hobbit was moving again, Sting slashing almost absently into the orc's shins. The dark creature howled in pain and reached out to grab the hobbit, its thick fingers closing around the bottom of Bilbo's tunic. The hobbit jerked backwards in shock and lashed out with Sting once more, barely even sparing a glance for the bloodstained piece of fabric that was cut free as he pushed forward. Bilbo's fingers fumbled for the cold metal ring that he had slipped into his pocket, his wide eyes frantically sweeping the surrounding trees for any sign of the orcs.

A high, screeching laugh reached the hobbit's ears barely a moment before he felt the ring press into the pads of his calloused fingers. Bilbo's eyes widened in horrified recognition as he frantically slipped the ring onto his middle finger, his silent feet propelling him into the nearest bush just as a loud, screaming army of goblins came into view.

"Where'd 'e go?" one of the creatures whined, its beady eyes sweeping the trees for any sign of the hobbit.

One of its fellows shrugged and shoved the other goblin forward with the edge of its sword, its lips curled into a savage grin beneath its rough, ugly armor.

"There'll be plenty more where 'e came from anyways," the goblin swore. "They'll soon regret what they did to our king!"

Loud, horrible screams greeted the goblin's statement and the army marched past, oblivious to the invisible hobbit that had collapsed in the shrubs barely a foot away from them. Bilbo gritted his teeth, barely daring to breathe for fear that someone would hear him.

_**Go to them…** _

Bilbo stiffened, his wide eyes flickering down to the ring that suddenly seemed to be burning on his finger.

**_GO. Let them see you… They will let you live. They will make you king when they see your power. You can make Thorin pay. You can make him regret what he did to you. You can have him as you've only dreamed of having him… Just go to the goblins. Let them take you to the orcs, and you will be rewarded._ **

Bilbo shuddered and wrapped his free hand around the nearest branch, his chest heaving with screams that the ring was ordering him to let loose. He rolled slightly to bury his face into the grass, his whimpers of pain at the sudden movement muffled by the decaying vegetation. The ring grew louder as the last goblins marched by, urging the hobbit to follow its orders and alert the creatures to his presence. Bilbo ignored the voice and forced himself to think of the dwarves, _his_ dwarves, even as the burning ring on his finger started to fade into the dark, numbing haze of unconsciousness. He thought of Bofur's gentle, encouraging smile, of the identical gleams of mischief that appeared in Fíli and Kíli's eyes every time one of their plans succeeded, of Balin's quiet wisdom and Dwalin's gruff humor, of Bombur's glee at the sight of food and Bifur's excited, nonsensical babbling.

He thought of Thorin, of the rare smiles that the dwarven king had allowed the hobbit to see during their travels and the warmth of his embrace on the Carrock.

_I'm sorry, Thorin_ , Bilbo mused, his thoughts barely audible over the angry, insistent screams of the ring. _I hope that you can forgive me someday…_

 

*---*---*---*

Fíli was the first to see the approaching army.

"Aule help us," he whispered, his hand reaching out to clasp his brother's shoulder in search of a familiar comfort.

"Fee?" Kíli murmured back, his dark eyes widening in silent alarm. "What is it? What do you see?"

Fíli merely shook his head, his muscles tensing when a strong hand touched his back.

"What do you see, Fíli?" Thorin asked, his voice deceptively calm as he struggled to follow his heir's gaze.

"Azog's army approaches," the young dwarf sighed. "And he is joined by legions of goblins."

Thorin nodded stiffly and strode back to his previous place at the center of the balcony, leaving his nephews alone in the middle of Dain's archers. Dain, Dwalin, Balin, and Dís looked up expectantly as he approached, their calloused hands curled tightly around the hilts of gleaming swords and battle axes. Beside them, Thranduil and Bard didn't bother to turn away from the horizon, their bows already notched with arrows.

"Fíli says that the orcs are near," Thorin reported flatly. "Their numbers have been boosted with goblins."

"Do ye think they're the same ones that we met in the Misty Mountains?" Dwalin grunted, his hazel eyes sweeping across the plains in search of the army.

Thorin shrugged, choosing to ignore the questioning glances that Dís and Dain were now sending his way.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered. "Are the archers ready?"

"They will wait until the enemy is close before they fire," Thranduil replied.

Thorin bit back a sharp comment and shot the elvenking a glare, his gaze softening slightly when he caught sight of Bard's apologetic half-smile.

"We'll be ready for them, your highness," the bowman assured him.

"Thorin," Thorin corrected him gruffly. "There are no kings in battle, only brothers fighting beside each other in the name of what we hold most dear."

The human blinked slowly in surprise and offered the dwarf king a silent bow. Thorin smiled thinly and bowed in return, his sharp blue eyes flickering back to the king of Mirkwood to see how Thranduil had taken the statement. The elf king offered him a brief glance half-filled with contempt, his thin lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

"They are coming closer, dwarf," Thranduil muttered. "Your men should be making their way out of the mountain now."

"And what of your men?" Balin called politely.

The elf smirked.

"They will follow your orders," he assured them silkily. "So long as your archers follow mine."

Thorin and Dain merely bowed. With a final huff and a firm slap to Thorin's shoulder, Dain turned to leave the balcony, Dís and Balin close behind him. Dwalin remained by his king's side, his twin battle-axes strapped firmly onto his broad shoulders.

"So, how long are we goin' ta stay up here and share air with the elves?" he asked casually.

Thorin shrugged and glanced over his shoulder, his muscles tensing when he saw Dís wave her hand in a final farewell to her sons.

"Azog will be too focused on me to notice Dain's forces coming around from behind," he muttered. "I need to give him as much of a chance as I can, especially now that the numbers are against us."

Dwalin nodded slowly, his fists slowly clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Are the lads coming with us when we do go down?" he wondered.

Thorin smiled humorlessly. "I doubt that I could convince them to stay… Besides, Fíli isn't an archer. The only reason he isn't with Dís right now is because Kíli wouldn't be able to bear knowing that he was on the battlefield alone."

"...Ori is going out there," Dwalin muttered gruffly. "With his brothers."

Thorin reached out to wordlessly clasp the warrior's wrist for a brief moment, his blue eyes moving to focus on the dim shadows of trees that were barely visible behind the throbbing, screaming mass of approaching orcs and goblins.

"…Bilbo doesn't have anyone," he observed, his voice carefully-neutral.

Dwalin was silent.

"It's my fault," Thorin continued quietly. "I sent him out there, I… turned him away. Whatever happens to him, it will be on my head."

"On all of our heads," Dwalin corrected him quietly. "There were twelve of us in that throne room when you banished him, Thorin. None of us made a move to stop you. If anything happens to that hobbit, it will be a burden that we will all have to bear."

Thorin swallowed and nodded, not entirely convinced.

"Dwalin-," he began.

"Thorin," Dwalin interrupted with rough gentleness. "He's Bilbo. He will be fine."

The dwarf king bowed his head and moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Thranduil and Bard, his head held high as he gazed over the battlements at the approaching army. A white orc mounted on a gigantic white warg road at the front, its scarred face turned in Thorin's general direction. The orc slowly drew to a halt beneath the balcony, its beady eyes locked intently on the dwarf that stood at the center.

"Hail, Thorin, son of Thrain," it greeted in something that could barely be called the Common Tongue. "You still smell of fear."

Thorin refused to answer the orc and simply waited, his skin crawling slightly when he realized that his shoulders were brushing against Thranduil's armor.

_Bilbo would be thrilled_ , he thought wryly, ignoring the sharp stab of fear and guilt that went through him at the thought of the gentle hobbit alone against Azog and his forces.

"I met your _protector_ on the way here," Azog continued, not bothered by the dwarf's silence.

Thorin stiffened and leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he braced himself against the sun-warmed stone of the battlements. Dimly, the dwarf felt Dwalin reach out to pull him back and shrugged the larger warrior away, his ears roaring with the sharp, dismayed gasps of his nephews.

"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice carrying easily across the roars of Azog's forces.

The white orc seemed to smile at his reaction and raised its hand, a wad of crumpled blue cloth clenched between its fingers.

"Here," it purred. It gestured towards a nearby orc whose face was painted in streaks of blood. "There." Five more orcs raised gleaming, bloodstained weapons into the air with savage roars that sent chills down Thorin's spine. "There."

Thorin growled under his breath, his blood boiling in its veins even as a knot of icy despair formed in the pit of his stomach.

_My fault… This is my fault… I killed him…_

More orcs were raising bloodstained weapons into the air, their grey faces painted in red-brown blood. Azog was laughing and pointing, his arms waving as he conducted his own demented symphony of screams and battle cries.

"The _protector_ ," Azog screamed above its troops. "Is _gone_. Who will protect you now, Thorin, son of Thrain? Where is your shield?"

_I killed him…_

"Thorin," Dwalin hissed fiercely. " _Thorin_."

_I could not save him… But I will avenge him._

" _Kíli_!" Thorin roared.

A single arrow flew with painful accuracy into the neck of Azog's warg, sending the white orc tumbling gracelessly onto the field. Deadly silence spread across the field as the white orc slowly pulled itself onto its feet, its eyes blazing with fury. A sudden roar of triumph from the dwarves, men and elves that lined Erebor's battlements abruptly shattered the silence with a suddeness that nearly made Thorin flinch. Thranduil and Bard raised their bows to mimic Kíli's, their muscles tensed and ready for battle.

Thorin pushed violently away from the balcony before the first arrows could hit their targets, his footsteps shadowed by Dwalin's lumbering strides and his nephew's quick, rapid steps as they retreated back into the mountain. Legions of silent elves and thundering dwarves and men roared up at him from the depths of Erebor, desperate to break through the gates.

"Azog is mine," Thorin growled. "I want my sword dark with his blood."

"Get in line, Uncle," Fíli snarled, his twin blades gleaming silver in the shadows of Erebor's halls.


	3. in heat of battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vengeance is sought in blood.

Dwalin remembered his first battle all too well.

Unlike many of the other members of the company, the swords of the sons of Fundin had drawn their first tastes of blood decades before Smaug had destroyed their home. Dwalin had long forgotten the reason for his first battle- he had been a young dwarrow then, barely older than Kíli- but he could never forget the silent rush of dread, adrenaline, and _fear_ that had come- that _always_ came before the gates opened and he faced his enemy.

Dwalin stiffened instinctively as the gates of Erebor began to open, his fingers tightening around the handles of his axes as he moved automatically to place himself in front of the remaining members of the line of Durin. He heard Thorin huff in fond exasperation before the King Under the Mountain raised Orcrist above his head. Fíli and Kíli mimicked the gesture, followed almost immediately by Dwalin and the rest of the dwarves, men, and elves that were crowded around them in the hall.

" _Baruk Khazâd!_ " Thorin Oakenshield screamed.

" _Khazâd ai-mênu!_ " the dwarves of Erebor roared in reply, their battle cry echoed with screams of Sindarin mixed with the Common Tongue.

Dwalin took in a deep, settling breath and started to run towards the gates, his steps shadowed by the heavy footfalls of his allies. His eyes zeroed in on the growing stream of sunlight that was pouring into the hall through the heavy doors, his ears ringing with the harsh pounding of blood and war cries. He slipped out of Erebor inches in front of Thorin, the blades of his ax slamming immediately into the skull of the nearest orc. Thorin grunted behind him and slipped in front of Dwalin, Orcrist gleaming a bright, brilliant blue in the dim light of the sun. Behind them, the heirs of Durin dove headfirst into the fray, Fíli's twin blades flashing in tandem with the gleam of Kíli's sword. The brothers glanced up for a brief moment to meet Dwalin's gaze, their eyes glittering with the same savage rage that had settled over Thorin's sharp sapphire eyes the moment the white orc had lifted the ragged remains of Bilbo's tunic above his head.

Another orc appeared in Dwalin's peripheral vision, its grey skin painted with red-brown blood. Dwalin snarled and slammed both of his axes into the creature's chest before the orc could even raise its own weapon, his thoughts suddenly filled with images of the halfling's hesitant smile and wary blue eyes half-hidden by a raised blade.

"Tha's for Bilbo, bastard," he whispered before moving on to the next orc.

*---*---*---*

Ori stayed close to his brothers until they reached the bottom of the mountain, his muscles burning beneath the unfamiliar weight of Dwalin's hammer. He felt rather than saw the worried glances that Dori constantly sent over his shoulder and forced himself to stand taller, unwilling to show a hint of weakness in front of his older siblings.

_They'll probably send me back into the mountain if I so much as trip over a pebble_ , he thought wryly.

Another dwarf flickered through his thoughts just as he caught sight of the black, pulsing mob of goblins and orcs that had clustered around the gates of Erebor. Ori felt his lips curve upwards at the thought of Dwalin's fierce gaze and surprisingly-gentle smile, even as waves of fear washed over him in the wake of his first real battle. The younger dwarf darted past his oldest brother with a battle cry on his lips, his eyes locked on the small group of gleaming armor and flashing weapons that had started to push its way out of Erebor. His battle hammer slammed into the back of an unsuspecting goblin before his feet had fully left the slopes of the mountain. The creature cried out in shock and pain and struggled to crawl back onto its feet, only to crumple to the ground as one of Nori's knives slashed through its throat.

Nori spared his younger brother a brief, fierce smile before he turned back to the goblins, orcs, and wargs that were already starting to surround them, his brown eyes flickering away from his foes for another brief moment as Dori, Bofur, and Bifur scrambled down the mountain to join them. Ori took a deep breath and plunged into the fray, Dwalin's hammer slamming mercilessly into anything that came too close. Dimly, he heard Dori call out to him in warning and alarm, his words lost to the chaos of the battlefield. Ori ignored him and continued to push his way forward, his every step shadowed and guarded by Nori and Bofur.

The individual faces and details of battle quickly dissolved into a blur of glimpsed enemies and comrades and sudden, thick bursts of black and red blood. Ori forced himself to keep moving closer to the gates of Erebor, his eyes combing the bloody, screaming mass of warriors for any sign of a familiar tattooed head.

"Ori!"

Ori whirled around at the sound of his brother's yell, his eyes widening in panic when he saw the orc that had slipped up behind him, its wicked scimitar already descending towards his head. Ori hastily slammed his hammer into the blade's path, his arms shaking with the effort of parrying the creature's blow. The orc sneered and tore the sword away, causing the dwarf to stumble forward. Ori struggled to regain his balance so that he could parry the orc's next blow, the blood draining from his cheeks when he realized that he wouldn't be able to raise the hammer in time.

A familiar, hoarse shout rang out behind the orc. Ori bit back a gasp as a brown and silver blur leapt onto the orc's shoulders from behind and buried two ax blades into the creature's chest and skull. The orc let out a high, gurgling screech and crumpled onto the ground just as its attacker leaped off of its back and landed in front of Ori with a low _'thump'_. Dwalin stared down at the younger dwarf and smiled a gentle smile that was completely at odds with the stains of black, dried orc blood that already coated his axes and armor.

"Ye need someone to watch yer back," he pointed out.

Ori smiled shyly and slammed his hammer into the face of a warg that had tried to attack them from the side, his cheeks reddening when he saw Dwalin's approving gaze.

"N-Nori and Bofur were-," he began.

"Let me say this differently," Dwalin interrupted dryly. "Ye need _me_ to watch yer back, Ori."

Ori's smile widened and he shouldered Dwalin's war-hammer for a brief moment to stare up at the older warrior.

"…I think we could make that work," he said finally.

*---*---*---*

It didn't take long for Azog to find Thorin.

Honestly, if Thorin thought about it, he was surprised that it had taken the white orc as long as it did to track down the heirs to the line of Durin.

Although, Thorin often found that he didn't have much time to think during a battle.

The white orc howled in fury and recognition the moment he caught sight of Orcrist on the battlefield, his bloodstained mace raised above his head. Thorin felt an icy rage rise within him at the sight of the orc, his eyes zeroing in on the scrap of dirty blue fabric that was still clutched between the clawed fingers of Azog's remaining hand. He tightened his grip on Orcrist and ran forward, his lips curling into a cruel smirk as he drew closer.

"No warg to help you now, Azog," he hissed.

_The protector is gone. Who will protect you now, Thorin, son of Thrain?_

Thorin snarled and forcefully shook Azog's voice out of his head, his muscles jarring painfully as Orcrist's blade collided with the spikes of Azog's mace. He heard Fíli and Kíli's battle cries behind them and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see them engage another, paler orc that was slightly shorter than Azog, its disgusting skin marred by wicked scars and strips of metal beneath stripes of brown, dry blood. Thorin felt his heart stutter with concern for his nephews before he refocused his attention on Azog's sneering face.

The orc cackled and took advantage of Thorin's distraction to lash out with his mace. Thorin grimaced as the weapon collided with his gut and knocked the breath out of his lungs. With a breathless snarl, he shook off the blow and attempted to cut through the orc's defenses with a sloppy attack, only to have it blocked effortlessly by the orc.

"Too weak, son of Thrain," the orc purred savagely. "Even your protector was weak."

"Do not speak of him," Thorin snarled, unable to keep himself from responding.

Azog's sneer widened at the reaction and he shoved the dwarf away from him, his mace slamming mercilessly into the blade that Thorin hastily raised in his own defense. The orc pressed forward, nearly shoving the dwarf onto the ground.

"He tried to run," the orc informed him quietly. "Like a coward. He ran and ran but we cut him down. My son's blade was the last that had the privilege of tasting his blood-."

Thorin roared in agonized fury and slammed his shoulder into Azog's abdomen, his blade twisting between them as he rammed it up through Azog's chest.

"Do not speak of him," Thorin snarled quietly. "You have no right."

Something slammed into Thorin's spine, sending him sprawling painfully onto the bloodstained earth.

The dwarf king gave a gasping snarl and twisted painfully back onto his feet, his eyes widening in a sudden horror when he saw the other pale white orc looming over him. The crumpled forms of Fíli and Kíli were spread-eagled on the ground behind him, their faces pale and streaked with blood beneath their matted, tangled hair.

"No," he croaked.

The orc merely snarled and drove his sword through the dwarf's shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Thorin barely bit back a scream of pain, his fingers scrabbling uselessly on the ground in search of his fallen sword.

"My father and I vowed to destroy you, Thorin, son of Thrain," the orc hissed. "I will finish you, just as I have finished your line."

"Oh, have you?"

The white orc barely managed to turn around before his head was separated from his shoulders by a foreign blade. Thorin's eyes followed the decapitated head until it rolled to a stop at the feet of a dwarrow warrior clad in the gleaming gold and mithril of the line of Durin, his lips curving into a small, pained smile when he met the flashing blue eyes of his sister beneath the tangled locks of her midnight hair. Dís barely glanced at her brother, her knees already bending to bring her closer to the fallen head of the creature that had tried to destroy her family.

"You will remember my name, you pale-faced bastard," she hissed. "You will be sent into the fiery halls of your dead with the knowledge that it was Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror of the line of Durin that sent you into oblivion."

The dead orc made no reply.

Thorin choked on a scream of pain as the orc's sword was wrenched from his shoulder by his sister, his muscles working to help Dís pull him to his feet.

"The boys-," he croaked.

"They are well, Thorin," Balin called from his place by the youngest Durins. Oin and Gloin were crouched by his side, their hands moving with practiced ease across the unconscious dwarrows. "Oin believes that they will recover soon, with minor injuries."

Thorin nodded stiffly and silently accepted Dís's support, his eyes sweeping across the remains of the battle that was starting to fade behind them.

"Is it-?" he whispered hoarsely.

"The orcs scattered the minute Azog was slaughtered," Dwalin's voice called moments before the warrior himself came into view, his bloodied arm wrapped securely around a trembling Ori. "The tree-shaggers and the men are taking care of the goblins as we speak."

Thorin nodded again, his shoulders slumping as the last dregs of adrenaline seeped out of his body, leaving cold, weary sadness in its wake.

_I did it_ , he thought tiredly. _I avenged you, burglar…_

Why, then, did it not feel like he had done enough?

_"Farewell! We may meet again as friends."_

_Friends… Mahal, Bilbo, why did I not tell you that you could never simply be my friend?_

_Why did I never tell you that I loved you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ahem* So, as you can see, I'm not exactly the best at battle sequences -.-' Sorry about that... anyways, hope ya'll liked Chapter 3!


	4. let hope arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is found in the wake of violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Happy Christmas (Or late Hanukkah, depending on what you celebrate.. And I actually don't know when Kwanza is so whether it's late or early, Happy Kwanza!). I'm so sorry I didn't get a chapter up the last two nights. The internet crashed before I could get this up so... Well, consider this a Christmas present, and I'll try and get another one up later tonight when I can. :) (Also to any readers who are in the Sherlock and Doctor Who fandoms, I feel your pain and here is a virtual hug *hugs*).

Bilbo Baggins woke to the sounds of battle.

The hobbit blinked slowly in the dim, shadowy light that struggled to filter through the trees of Mirkwood and painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. He bit his lip as his eyes flickered across the dark scarlet rosette of half-dried blood that had spread across the front of his shirt, his breath catching in his throat in response to the sharp stab of pain that went through his aching body.

A screeching goblin raced past his hiding place, causing the hobbit to flinch back into the branches in a sudden, painful panic, his eyes widening in surprise when a silver-haired elf leaped at the goblin, his twin blades flashing silver and black as they sliced through the creature's dry skin. The elf hastily shoved the goblin's corpse away and sheathed his blades before reaching for the bow that had been slung across his back, his bright blue eyes already combing the trees for his next target. Bilbo's breath hitched and he slowly started to move closer to the stationary elf, his shaking fingers moving to curl around the cold ring that still rested on his finger.

**_NO!_ **

The hobbit instinctively recoiled at the loud, hissing shout that rang through his mind, his head suddenly pounding with a sharp, searing pain.

**_Do not reveal yourself to the elf_** , the voice of the ring hissed frantically in his mind. **_The elves cannot be trusted. They imprisoned your friends-_**

_Oh, now they're my friends, are they?_ Bilbo shot back irritably, only dimly worried that he was now arguing with a disembodied voice.

**_Do not trust the elves!_** The voice seemed to grow within his mind, its flat, almost hypnotic tones tinged with the barest hint of anger. **_They will take the ring from you, they will use it to take everything away from you. They will destroy you! Stay hidden… Stay hidden and wait until they leave…_**

Bilbo slowly pulled his hand away from the ring, his muscles already relaxing back into the underbrush as he prepared to follow the rings instructions, prepared to wait-

_Wait for what?_ he thought suddenly. _And… And the elves are my friends, too. They took me in when Thorin… when he… They will not hurt me._

**_Do not trust-_ **

Bilbo forcibly shoved the voice of the ring out of his mind and pulled the burning metal off of his finger, a low gasp of pain and surprise breaking through his lips when the ring stung the palm of his hand like a flame.

The elf whirled around at the sound of the gasp, his eyes widening in shock and recognition when he caught sight of the bloodied hobbit that was crouched in the underbrush behind him. Bilbo offered the elf a weary smile, his eyes finally focusing on the taller man's familiar face.

"Legolas…" he croaked.

"Mister Baggins," the elf prince whispered in shock and awe. "What are you-?" The elf broke off abruptly when Bilbo's breath hitched again, his bright blue eyes narrowed with concern. "You are injured."

"I- I'm afraid so," Bilbo admitted sheepishly.

The hobbit carefully tucked the burning ring into the pocket of his coat just as Legolas hurried to his side, the breath hissing out of his lungs as the elf's lithe arms gingerly lifted him into the air.

"I am sorry," Legolas murmured apologetically. "But we must get you to a healer as soon as possible."

Bilbo nodded stiffly and allowed himself to relax against the elf's armored chest, his eyes locking for a brief moment on the goblin corpse that was still crumpled onto the ground a few feet away.

"Battle…" he gasped.

"My men and I were merely taking care of a few stragglers," Legolas assured him quickly. "I am told that the main battle is already over."

"The main…?"

"The siege of Erebor," the elf explained, his arms tightening slightly around the hobbit as he darted soundlessly through the forrest. Dimly, Bilbo was aware of several other elves falling into place behind them, their bows and knives held at the ready as they searched the trees for any remaining enemies. "The forces of the Iron Hills, Laketown, and Mirkwood entered into an alliance with the company of Thorin Oakenshield before the orcs and goblins arrived."

"R-Really?" Bilbo whispered, his heart pounding with a sudden wave of fear and relief. Thorin had allied himself with the elves?

Legolas nodded and shot the hobbit a gentle smile. The sunlight was growing stronger now; Bilbo found that he could just make out the edges of the forest and wondered hazily how the elf could move so quickly.

"It is thanks to you, really," the elf prince mused quietly. "If it had not been for your insistence that my father and Bard take refuge in Erebor, the alliance would never have taken place and we would have been slaughtered." Legolas paused, his lips curving upwards into a smile that was almost mischievous. "And I am told that much of Thorin's willingness to give refuge to my people is due to you, as well."

Bilbo felt the blood rush into his cheeks and started to shake his head, only to stop when the movement sent waves of dizziness through his weakening body. He felt Legolas tighten his grip and tried to smile in response to the worry in the elf's gaze, his lips working to form a proper response to the elf's words.

"N-No," he whispered, his words noticeably slurred. "Thorin doesn't… Not for me… N-Not now, after the… the Arkenstone…"

His vision began to fade almost immediately after he had spoken the word. The hobbit finally allowed himself to slip into oblivion against the comforting warmth of the elf's chest, his ears perking up one last time as the elf murmured into his ear.

"…You are wrong," Legolas whispered gently, his voice echoing strangely in Bilbo's mind as it accompanied him into shadowy dreams.

 

*---*---*---*

The gates of Erebor were already open by the time Legolas and his guards ran up to the mountain, its dark halls alive and echoing with the moans of the wounded and the shouts of victorious warriors. Legolas paused at the entrance and shifted the weight of the small, unconscious hobbit in his arms, his muscles burning with the first hints of exhaustion. He forced himself to stand tall as he strode into the halls, centuries of his father's lectures and lessons on behavior befitting elven royalty flitting through the back of his mind. One of his guards ran to a pair of wary dwarven guards and quietly informed them of the identity of the newest arrivals, his eyes widening in silent shock and alarm when a small mob of dirty and bloodied dwarrows came barreling out of the halls of Erebor towards his prince.

Legolas stiffened slightly when the group of half-familiar dwarves surrounded him, a half-raised eyebrow the only hint of his own confusion and surprise when he recognized the two princes of Erebor at the head of the mob. He bowed his head in a stiff, half-formed bow, his arms tightening instinctively around the hobbit cradled against his chest to ensure that the creature did not fall. Several of the dwarves made as if to pluck the hobbit from his grasp, their eyes wild with relief and alarm. The eldest of the two princes, a dwarf with golden hair and shrewd eyes that had once glared at Legolas with cold fury, bit his lip and met Legolas's gaze, his features working to find some semblance of control even as he motioned for his companions to stand back.

"Your father is meeting with Bard, Dain, and my uncle to work out the details of our alliance," he informed the elf carefully. "My brother and I were told to watch for your arrival and send word to the king the moment that you arrived." The golden dwarf paused and took a deep breath, his eyes locking once more on the hobbit. "Bilbo, is he… how is he?"

"He needs a healer," Legolas explained flatly. "And he has lost some blood, but I do believe that he will survive."

The dwarf visibly relaxed and nodded, his lips quirking upwards into a small, hesitant smile.

"Kíli," he said quietly, immediately drawing the attention of the dark-haired prince. "Tell King Thranduil that his son has arrived. And tell Uncle-."

"On it!" Kíli crowed, his legs already carrying him further into the halls of Erebor.

Legolas smiled slightly, his smile fading when the hobbit shivered in his arms.

"Where are the healing rooms?" he asked quietly.

An old, wizened dwarf that had also been among the former captives of Mirkwood shuffled forward, a battered horn pressed into his ear.

"Follow me," the dwarf grunted. "Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Yes, it-"

"What?" the dwarf barked, startling the elf.

"He doesn't hear very well," a kindly-looking dwarf with an odd hat offered helpfully, his dark eyes narrowed with worry as they looked at Bilbo. "Try speaking up, yeah?"

"Ah… Yes," Legoals shouted hesitantly, immediately grabbing the attention of several passing humans and dwarves. "The bleeding stopped entirely on the way here."

"No need to shout, laddie," the old dwarf huffed before he turned to lead the group down a half-hidden passageway.

Legolas frowned and shot a half-furious glance at the dwarf with the funny hat, only to find the dwarf snickering quietly beside an equally-amused dwarf prince.

"I didn' tell ya to shout, you know," the kindly dwarf purred. "Just said that you needed to speak up."

"Dwarves," Legolas grumbled under his breath, stubbornly ignoring the small, exasperated smile that was already trying to make its appearance on his lips.

 

*---*---*---*

Thorin sat heavily in his seat at the meeting table, his blue eyes following Bard and Dain as the two men paced at opposite ends of the large, dusty meeting room. Thranduil merely stared at the ceiling above them, his immaculate silver hair and cool, disinterested expression a marked contrast to the bruised faces of the dwarf kings and the uneasy frowns of the human archer. Thorin rolled his eyes at the elf's composure and rubbed absently at the bandages that had been wrapped around his injured shoulder, trying to ignore the dull ache that had settled in his chest after the fury and adrenaline of battle had faded.

"Dain," he called tiredly. "I already agreed to give the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood more gold in exchange for their services in battle."

"But, Thorin, have you seen the amount that they have asked for?" Dain hissed furiously.

"It's not like we don't have the gold," Thorin pointed out wryly.

"Thorin-"

"I fail to see why it is such a hardship for you dwarves to give to those who have nothing," Bard snapped irritably. "Especially when you have so much."

"And what of the elves?" Dain snarled. "Do you mean to tell me that they also have nothing?"

"The affairs of the elves are none of your concern, Dain of the Iron Hills," Thranduil broke in flatly.

"They are, however, mine," Thorin interrupted harshly. "Dain, I have already agreed to their terms and I will stand by my word. I will not allow greed for gold to cloud my judgment in this." _Not again…_ "The arrangement should be of benefit to us all, since I am sure that the markets of Dale will welcome the trade of dwarves and men alike as it did in ages past."

Bard nodded and opened his mouth to comment, only to be cut short as the door to the meeting room flew open and Kíli burst into the room, his features flushed beneath the bandages that had been wrapped around his head and arm.

"Uncle!" he called out, apparently oblivious to the other men that were gathered in the room. "Uncle, Prince Legolas has arrived with a small contingent of guards."

Thranduil shot to his feet immediately, his pale features softening for the briefest of moments with something that could almost be called relief. The elf king opened his mouth, only to be cut off as well as Kíli continued, his limbs nearly trembling in excitement.

"Bilbo is with him!" the youngest prince of Erebor declared happily, his dark eyes sparkling with relief and mirth.

Thorin gasped and slowly lifted himself from his seat, his knuckles whitening against the edge of the table as he braced himself against the carved stone surface.

"Bilbo?" he croaked. "He is… alive?"

Kíli's happiness visibly dimmed, nearly stopping Thorin's heart in his chest.

"He's unconscious," the young dwarf reported carefully. "And Prince Legolas says that he has lost some blood, but he seems to think that Bilbo will live."

Thorin nodded stiffly and pushed away from the table to join his nephew at the door, barely noticing when Thranduil moved to follow him.

"We will continue this meeting later," he announced to the other two inhabitants of the room. "There is something that I must see to first."

Dain frowned and cocked his head to the side, his frown deepening when Bard merely smiled knowingly and bowed his head.

"Give my regards to the Halfling," the human archer murmured.

Thorin spared the archer a brief bow and hurried out of the room, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as Kíli's words finally began to sink in.

_Bilbo is alive…_


	5. yet night remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is sought, and darkness discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, well, it's a little after Christmas but no matter! Here's another chapter- Have fun!

Bilbo Baggins hoped that he was dreaming.

Darkness surrounded him in a thick, numbing cloak that didn't quite erase the sharp waves of burning pain that pulsed through him with every breath. Bilbo shivered and struggled to lift himself off of… what was he lying on, anyways?

_Bagginses…_

The hobbit froze and glanced instinctively in the direction of the half-familiar voice, his eyes straining against the shadows.

"H-Hello?" he called, his voice echoing strangely in his ears.

_Bagginses… what is a Bagginses, precious?_

"Eru," Bilbo croaked, his eyes widening in fear as he whipped around in search of the creature from Goblintown.

_What has it got in its pocketses, precious? What. Has. It. Gots?_

"G-get away from me," Bilbo hissed. "Show yourself!"

_Nasty hobbitses… they stole it from us, precious… They stole our precious…_

"You can have it back!" he snapped frantically. "I don't want it anymore- take it back."

**_"That's not very nice…"_ **

The hobbit flinched instinctively at the sound of the ring's cool, flat voice, his bare fingers clenching tightly at his sides.

"Get away from me," he repeated harshly. "Go back to that… that Gollum creature. I don't need you!"

**_"Are you sure?"_** the voice whispered silkily.

"Yes. I-."

**_"How are you going to get out of here, Master Baggins?"_** the voice continued, its flat tone deepening until Bilbo could almost pretend that Thorin was speaking to him. **_"Do you know the way out?"_**

"…I-."

**_"I know the way. I can show you… I can take you back home…"_ **

"Erebor," Bilbo whispered before he could stop himself.

The voice's responding, icy chuckle sent shivers down Bilbo's spine. The hobbit struggled to stumble away from the ring's poisonous presence, only to falter when he realized that he still couldn't see where his feet were taking him.

**_"Erebor?"_** the voice repeated icily. **_"What makes you think that they would want you back in the mountain after what you did? You betrayed them."_**

"I-I didn't," Bilbo objected weakly.

**_"They don't want to see your face again,"_** the ring reminded him. **_"Thorin said so… He hates you, you know."_**

The hobbit felt his knees buckle beneath him and collapsed heavily onto the ground, his heart sinking in his chest like a lead weight.

"You're right," he mumbled.

**_"You know I'm right,"_** the ring hissed cheerfully. **_"He despises you… if he's even alive."_**

Ice slithered down Bilbo's spine and his heart froze in his chest, leaving the hobbit gasping for breath.

"N-No," Bilbo spluttered. "No, I know he's alive… Legolas told me-."

**_"He's an elf… elves lie."_ **

"So do you!" the hobbit snarled with a sudden surge of fury. "You… You told me to reveal myself to those orcs. You wanted me to kill myself!"

**_"They would have taken you home!"_** the voice retorted furiously.

"What home?" Bilbo growled. "The Shire? Orcs don't belong in the Shire-."

**_"Mordor."_ **

"…What?"

**_"Mordor,"_** the ring whispered again, its voice slipping easily into a soft, hypnotic tone that gave the hobbit no choice but to listen. **_"Mordor is our home. It is… precious to us."_**

"Precious," Bilbo repeated dazedly. His feet move forward suddenly, as if he had been pushed, and he took another, hesitant step as the ring continued to croon in his ear.

**_"Yes,"_** the ring insisted. **_"So precious to us… It will give us what we want. It will give us_** everything ** _."_**

"So precious," Bilbo gasped, his mind already yearning for this strange, half-familiar land. He needed to go, he needed to get there and find… and find…

**_"Our king is there,"_** the ring told him. **_"He is waiting for us. We are precious to him. He will reward us greatly for coming to him. He is a generous king…"_**

"Very generous," the hobbit agreed dreamily. "Such a generous ki-." He stopped suddenly and felt his brow furrow in confusion, his muddled mind gradually clearing, as if he was waking up from a dream. "I already have a king."

The ring hissed furiously and started to speak, only to be cut off by Bilbo before it could really begin.

"Thorin is my king," he snapped. "He will always be my king. I don't need another one."

Bilbo choked suddenly as the breath was stolen from his lungs, his chest heaving in a futile effort to draw oxygen into his body. The ring's harsh, furious snarls rang through his skull, drowning out the hobbit's thoughts. Far off in the distance, Bilbo imagined that he could hear voices raised in panic and concern. He heard his name echo faintly in the darkness and opened his mouth to cry out in reply, his lips opening and closing in silent screams.

**_"You will not stop me,"_** the ring screamed. **_"I will be reunited with my king, and I will see your world destroyed- I will BURN you."_**

**BILBO**.

**Bilbo, wake up!**

**Bilbo…**

"Thorin," Bilbo managed to gasp, his mind already slipping into oblivion even as oxygen finally flooded into his lungs.

*---*---*---*

Thorin stared down at the unconscious hobbit in his bed, silently willing the creature to wake up.

"Uncle."

Thorin merely grunted in response, his blue eyes never moving from Bilbo's pale, peaceful face.

"Uncle," Fíli tried again.

Another grunt.

"Uncle, the elves are eating vegetables on your throne!" Kíli blurted out, apparently oblivious to the horrified look that Legolas gave him in response.

The King Under the Mountain turned away from the hobbit for the briefest of moments to fix his youngest nephew with a furious glare before he returned to his previous position, his bandaged shoulders stiff with tension beneath his worn fur coat. Fíli rolled his eyes at his brother and offered the prince of Mirkwood an apologetic grimace, not quite able to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Legolas huffed but made no move to leave the room, his pale blue eyes locked on the slumbering hobbit that had claimed Thorin Oakenshield's undivided attention.

In all honesty, the prince of Mirkwood was still surprised that the dwarf king continued to tolerate his presence in the room. While the other dwarves of Bilbo's company had allowed Legolas to remain in the healing room with minimal grumbling, the brief look of furious confusion that Thorin Oakenshield had sent his way moments before he ran to the unconscious hobbit's side had clearly told the weary elf that his presence would not be tolerated for much longer.

Then Bilbo had stopped breathing.

Legolas still shuddered at the memory of the moment when the hobbit had started to thrash violently in his bed, his dark blue eyes staring unseeingly at the stone ceiling above him as his skin slowly began to turn a sickly shade of grey. Thorin had bellowed in shock and fear before he was dragged away from the bed by his nephews and several other members of his company. The wizened dwarven healer that had told Legolas to speak louder was by the hobbit's side before the king had been fully removed, his gnarled fingers flying with a practiced, desperate efficiency across Bilbo's heaving body in an effort to find the source of the difficulty. After a few frantic moments, the old dwarf had looked up and met the frightened gaze of the elven prince where he was still frozen in the corner, barely daring to move.

"Get over here, lad," the healer had snarled.

Legolas barely remembered what had happened next. He could vaguely recall stumbling across the crowded room to join the healer, his senses suddenly overwhelmed with the dark, choking scent of evil that seemed to have surrounded the hobbit's tiny body like a thick cloak. He couldn't remember if he had reeled back in shock or grasped Bilbo's hand in an instinctive attempt to dispel the darkness surrounding him. Whatever his response had been, the hobbit had stilled moments after the elf had reached his side, although it wasn't until Thorin had cried out for the hobbit in a broken, desperate voice that Bilbo started to breathe again.

Bilbo Baggins had been moved to the king's personal chambers soon after the incident in order to give the tiny creature some privacy from the legions of injured warriors and frenzied healers that crowded Erebor's ruined halls in the wake of the battle. Much to his surprise, Legolas had found himself herded into the king's chambers by two trembling and exhausted dwarven princes. His earlier attempt to leave the room in order to give the worried dwarves some privacy had been met with Thorin's furious glare and Fíli and Kíli's desperate, pleading gazes.

Needless to say, the elven prince hadn't attempted to leave after that.

The heavy, half-rotted wooden door creaked open behind him, causing Legolas to flinch away from the doorway. Thorin's sister, Dís, swept into the room ahead of two members of Thorin's original company- Balin and Dwalin, if he remembered correctly. A fourth arrival ducked through the doorway immediately after the three dwarves, his wizened features pale with exhaustion beneath a familiar grey beard. Legolas felt a heavy weight slip off of his shoulders at the sight of the grey wizard and offered the taller man a small, relieved smile.

"Mithrandir," he breathed.

Gandalf spared the elf a warm look before he hurried to Thorin's side, his bushy brows furrowing in concern as he crouched to get a better look at Bilbo.

"My dear hobbit," he whispered sadly. "What have we done to you?"

"What took you so long?" Thorin demanded tersely, apparently oblivious to the warning glances that Balin, Dwalin, and his sister were sending his way.

The grey wizard merely looked weary.

"I am afraid that the business at Dol Guldur took more effort than I had expected. I was required to rest with Radagast until I could recover some of my strength. When I heard that an army of orcs and goblins were heading towards Erebor…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head, his shoulders tensing as he reached out to press a gentle hand to the hobbit's pale forehead.

"I am sorry that I did not get here sooner," he murmured.

Thorin Oakenshield remained silent. The dwarf king and the other inhabitants of the room watched the wizard bend over the prone hobbit, his lips moving to form the ancient words of the Valar. Legolas heaved a quiet sigh of relief when Bilbo stirred several minutes later and slowly opened his eyes, his brow furrowing in bleary confusion at the wizard above him.

"Where…?" the hobbit croaked.

"It's alright," Gandalf assured him. "You are safe in Erebor."

Bilbo slowly shook his head, his expression growing more and more agitated as his eyes flickered wildly across the room.

"No…" he moaned. "Where… where is it?"

Legolas frowned and glanced towards the two dwarf princes at his side, wondering if they understood the hobbit's words. Kíli simply stared back at him, his dark eyes troubled. Gandalf frowned as well and leaned closer, his free arm outstretched to keep a restless Thorin away from Bilbo.

"Where is what?" he demanded carefully, his grey eyes sharp with suspicion.

"The…the precious," Bilbo hissed, his normally-kind, gentle voice sharp with a strange emotion that sent chills down Legolas's spine. "That _damned_ … ring…."

"The ring?" Gandalf repeated slowly, the barest hint of alarm in his voice.

"Don't you usually keep it in your pocket?" Kíli asked, apparently oblivious to the wizard's concern. The young dwarf started to make his way to the worn, ragged coat that had been tossed into the corner of the room shortly after the hobbit was moved.

"No!" Bilbo shouted, his eyes suddenly clear and bright with alarm.

The hobbit made to leap out of bed, only to be restrained by Thorin's strong hands as the dwarf darted beneath Gandalf's outstretched arm. Kíli froze and cast the hobbit a startled look over his shoulder. Legolas reached out and quickly pulled the young dwarf further away from the coat, dimly surprised at the lack of resistance from the shorter archer. Bilbo gradually relaxed when he saw that Kíli had been pulled as far away from the coat as was physically possible in the crowded room.

"Don't go near it," Bilbo mumbled, his eyes locked on the coat with an odd combination of longing and loathing. "Don't even touch it… Please, for the love of Eru, don't go near that- that awful thing."

"You called it 'precious' barely a moment ago," Gandalf observed casually.

Thorin shot the wizard a sharp glance as the hobbit shuddered, his arms already pulling Bilbo closer to his bandaged chest.

"We won't touch it, Bilbo," he whispered soothingly. "I swear by Mahal, we won't touch it."

The hobbit stiffened at the sound of Thorin's voice and stared up at the dwarf with wide eyes. The king offered him a small, hesitant smile in response and moved to release the former burglar when Bilbo made no move to relax. Bilbo made a small noise of protest and instinctively moved closer to Thorin, although Legolas noted that the hobbit still seemed confused by his situation.

"T-Thorin?" Bilbo whispered cautiously, his eyes never leaving the dwarf king's face.

"I'm here," Thorin mumbled, his cheeks reddening with the barest hint of a blush when Dís and Dwalin snorted simultaneously at the king's obvious statement.

"I- You- I'm in Erebor?" the hobbit stuttered.

"I believe that I have already said that," Gandalf grumbled good-naturedly, his eyes still fixed on Bilbo's coat with shrewd curiosity.

"Yes," Thorin assured the hobbit gently. "You are in Erebor."

"But… Earlier…"

Thorin's eyes darkened in pain, immediately silencing the hobbit. The dwarf king heaved a heavy sigh and pulled the hobbit closer to his chest, his normally-grim features nearly buried in Bilbo's curly hair.

"I am truly sorry," he croaked, his voice barely audible even to Legolas's sharp ears. "I'm so sorry, my burglar. I- I didn't realize how much the gold lust of my forefathers had affected me until after I…" He paused and swallowed thickly, apparently unable to speak about the moment when he had dangled Bilbo over the walls of Erebor and threatened to kill him.

"Forgive me," he whispered. "Please forgive me. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, and I swear to you that I will do all that I can to fully repent for my crimes against you."

Bilbo blinked up at the dwarf, his lips slowly curving up into the most hesitant of smiles.

"You don't hate me?" he asked cautiously.

Thorin laughed brokenly and shook his head, his face still pressed into the hobbit's tangled curls.

"No," he answered breathlessly. "No, I don't hate you."

Bilbo smiled slightly and pulled away from the king, his smile widening when Thorin's face fell in response. The hobbit reached up and lightly smacked the dwarf across the top of the head, his brow puckering with the slightest hint of disappointment when the king seemed completely unaffected by the blow.

"Blasted dwarves," he muttered half-heartedly. "Just you wait until I get my strength back, then I'll give you a proper smack."

Thorin's nephews began to giggle uncontrollably behind Legolas, only to unsuccessfully smother their laughter when Bilbo flashed them a surprisingly-threatening look.

"D-Don't worry, Bilbo," Kíli gasped between muted giggles. "I'm sure Uncle is looking forward to that- to that proper smack."

Fíli snorted and turned away before Bilbo could focus on him, his hand pressed against his mouth as his shoulders continued to shake. Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned back to Thorin, his frown lifting slightly when he caught sight of the badly-hidden anxiety in the king's eyes.

"You have a lot to make up for, you know," he informed Thorin flatly.

Thorin bowed his head in silent acknowledgement. Bilbo chuckled then and wrapped his arms around the dwarf king's shoulders.

"Thank you," the hobbit whispered. "For letting me come back."

Thorin Oakenshield smiled and returned the embrace, his blue eyes bright.

"Thank you for coming back to me," he murmured.


	6. an evil revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, Thorin probably should have expected that something bad was going to happen

"No."

Gandalf glared back at the dwarf king of Erebor, his grey eyes flashing with a rare, exasperated fury that made the other inhabitants in the room shift uneasily.

"We must check to make sure that this ring of Bilbo's is not what I fear it is," the wizard snapped.

"A fear that you have not decided to share with us," Thorin pointed out sharply.

"Thorin Oakenshield, if I shared all my fears with every foolish or curious being that asked for them, there would be no shred of peace left in our hearts and I would find myself bereft of friends," Gandalf snarled. "Now let me check the ring. If everything is as I fear, you will have your answer."

"Check, if you must," Thorin stated with affected indifference. "But Bilbo will not be a part of your test."

Bilbo Baggins frowned slightly and tried to sit up straighter on Thorin's bed, a task that was made rather difficult by the dwarven arms that were still wrapped around his small frame.

"If I may-," he began hoarsely.

"Bilbo Baggins is the only one among us who can touch the ring without risk," Gandalf argued. "He found the ring- he must bear it."

"He is still weak," Thorin snarled.

"As are we all!" the wizard shouted, causing the rest of the room to jump. "Do not underestimate the strength of hobbits," he continued in a quieter tone. "For they are made of more than any of us can comprehend. You, of all people, should know this, Thorin Oakenshield."

The King Under the Mountain flinched and slowly pulled away from the hobbit in his arms, his features dark with regret and displeasure. Bilbo's frown deepened and he used the king's sudden distance to slip out of bed. The hobbit's knees buckled the moment he made contact with the ground and he nearly fell onto his face, only to be caught almost immediately by Fíli and Kíli's waiting hands. The dwarven princes flashed Bilbo hesitant smiles and gradually pulled away, giving the Halfling time to gather his strength. Thorin watched the proceedings from his place on the bed, his muscles tensed and ready to leap to Bilbo's assistance the minute the hobbit showed need of it.

Bilbo flashed Thorin a small, weary smile and slowly made his way to Gandalf's side, his blue eyes flickering between the wizard and his discarded coat every few moments.

"…What would you have me do?" he asked finally.

The wizard's face was grim as he stared down at the hobbit, his grey eyes filled with a sadness that no other being could quite comprehend.

"Do you see that fire in the hearth?" he murmured.

Bilbo nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Yes, of course."

"I need you to throw the ring into the fire," Gandalf whispered.

Bilbo reeled back as if he had been struck, his eyes widening in shock and fear. Thorin leapt to his feet and was at the hobbit's side in a moment, his own eyes fixed on the wizard in protective fury.

"T-throw it…" Bilbo repeated faintly.

"Yes," Gandalf replied firmly, his expression darkening. "It will not harm the ring, I can assure you, even if it is simply a normal trinket. Any dwarf here can tell you that regular fire is not hot enough to melt gold."

"He's right, laddie," Balin called from his place beside Dís and Dwalin. "The ring will be unharmed."

Bilbo swallowed thickly and nodded, although his eyes remained tainted with fear and unease. With short, stumbling footsteps he made his way to his jacket and carefully fished a small gold ring out of his breastpocket, his eyes fixing on Thorin and his heirs in silent warning when the three dwarves made to shadow his movements. The hobbit took a deep breath and staggered to the edge of the hearth, his fingers tightening for a brief moment around the ring before he threw it with great reluctance into the fire.

Gandalf ran to the fire's edge within seconds and carefully fished the golden trinket out of the flames. A low hiss broke through his lips as he inspected the lines of faint, flowing script that had appeared along the surface of the ring.

" _One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them_ ," he whispered absently, almost as if he had forgotten that there were others in the room. " _One Ring bring them all and in the darkness bind them._ "

There was silence in the room long after the wizard had finished speaking, broken only by the increasingly-uneasy shifts of the hobbit that still stood before the hearth. Finally, Gandalf jerked and dropped the ring into Bilbo's waiting hands. Thorin growled at the action, only to still in shock when the metal failed to burn the hobbit's gentle hands.

"It is quite cool, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf sighed heavily. "There is no need to fear. Bilbo," he added, causing the hobbit to jerk in shock. "Put the ring away, if you will."

Bilbo hesitated and a shadow flew across his face. The Halfling glanced at Thorin for a long moment, his jaw clenched in the grip of some inner struggle. He nodded jerkily and hurried back to the coat, his fingers dropping the ring back into his pocket as if he truly had been burned. Bilbo lingered by the coat for a moment longer, his head bent to hide the expression on his face. The dwarves in the room frowned at his obvious unease, their own faces shadowed in fear.

It was Legolas who finally spoke up, his lips forming the questions that the others longed to speak.

"Is it… as you had feared it would be?" he asked hesitantly.

Gandalf nodded silently.

"It is," he admitted. "And I find that my fears, upon being confirmed, have only grown…"

"You said that you would explain these fears after your test," Thorin snapped. "Explain them now."

"Thorin," Dís snarled in warning, only to be cut off by a gesture from the wizard.

"No, he is right," Gandalf murmured. "Besides, I will need to explain myself eventually- it will be far easier to explain when everyone is in the same room." He straightened suddenly and seemed to regain some of his usual energy, his grey eyes flashing. "Summon the other members of the company, along with Thranduil, Bard, and Dain. The tale that I will tell is a dark one, but I am afraid that you all must hear it, for no one will be unaffected."

Thorin frowned but nodded for Balin and Dwalin to do as the wizard said. Legolas hurried to follow them as well, his pale eyes dark with worry. Gandalf watched them go and heaved a low sigh before he turned back to Bilbo. The hobbit shifted uneasily and raised his eyes to meet the taller being's gaze.

"What have I gotten myself into, Gandalf?" he asked dryly.

The wizard did not reply.

*---*---*---*

In the end, it was Dís who insisted that they all move to the room where Thorin had met with his fellow rulers for negotiations merely hours before. No matter how comfortable the king's chambers could be under normal circumstances, the dwarven princess doubted that a bedchamber was really the right place for the sort of explanation that Gandalf had in mind.

Dís took care to stand beside her brother at the head of the meeting table, her shoulders pressed against his in silent support. Though he would never allow a word of complaint to pass his lips, Thorin's features were already pinched with pain, and the stiff set of his shoulders were an obvious sign to anyone who knew him that the king of Erebor was still suffering from his battle wounds. The hobbit seemed to sense Thorin's pain as well. Despite his own weakness, Bilbo Baggins was pressed firmly against Thorin's other side, his features set into the same determined expression that he had worn when he had saved Dís's life from the orcs in Mirkwood.

Dís allowed herself to smile faintly at the thought of the tiny, brave hobbit that had thrown himself so willingly into harm's way for the sake of her family. She felt her features harden almost immediately after the smile appeared, her eyes focused intently on the figures that had just begun to enter the meeting room behind her sons. The heirs of Erebor immediately went to flank their uncle on either side of Dís and Bilbo, followed closely by the other members of the company. Dís noted with a dim sort of surprise that Gloin's son, Gimli, had managed to worm his way into their midst, his rough fingers still curled around the handle of his father's ax.

Thranduil and Legolas filed in after the dwarves, followed by a weary Bard and an angry Dain. The King of the Ironhills paused when he caught sight of the royal family of Erebor, his unease growing.

"What is the meaning of this gathering?" he demanded. He blinked at the sight of the hobbit that was still pressed to Thorin's side. "And… What- is that the hobbit?"

Bilbo nodded and took a small step away from Thorin's side to offer the dwarf king a small, pained bow.

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service," he said.

Dain blinked again and somehow managed to return the bow, his mouth twitching into something that could almost be called a smile.

"Dain Ironfoot, at yours and your family's," he replied gruffly. "And my thanks to you, Master Baggins, for your services to my men."

Bilbo's cheeks reddened at the praise and he retreated back to the safety of Thorin's side. Dís felt herself smile at the movement and gently nudged her brother in the side, her smile widening when she saw the obvious affection in his eyes.

_Finally_ , some distant corner of her mind whispered gleefully.

All smiles faded when Gandalf cleared his throat and moved to stand at the opposite end of the table, his expression grim.

"How many of you knew that Bilbo possessed an enchanted ring?" he demanded sharply.

Every member of the company raised their hands and grunted in acknowledgement, while Thranduil, Bard, and Dain merely stared in obvious confusion. Gandalf nodded as if he had expected this and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

"In order to reach the Lonely Mountain, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was obliged to pass through the Misty Mountains," he explained brusquely. "While there, they were attacked and captured by goblins, who took them into the mountains to be interrogated by their king. Bilbo, as it so happens, was separated from the company and, as I have been told, ran into a creature known only as 'Gollum'. This Gollum had in his possession a certain ring, which then passed to Bilbo when our dear hobbit found that the creature had dropped it onto the ground. Bilbo quickly found out that the ring granted invisibility to the wearer and used the object during the course of his journey to help his friends."

Thranduil stiffened suddenly and shot the hobbit an appraising glance, dawning realization in his eyes. Bilbo's blush deepened and he lifted his chin in defiance, his eyes never leaving Gandalf's figure.

"This ring," Gandalf continued. "Is, as Bilbo proved just moments ago, the One Ring of Sauron. The Ring of Power."

The effect that the wizard's words produced on those gathered was almost instantaneous.

Thranduil drew in a sharp breath and drew closer to his son, who, impossibly, seemed to have grown paler in the dim light. Dain swore softly in Khuzdul, his oaths echoed with more volume by Dwalin, Gloin, and Nori. Bard cursed and pressed a hand across his eyes, while the rest of Thorin's company seemed torn between pulling away from their hobbit and drawing closer to the small being. Thorin himself merely stiffened and pulled Bilbo closer, his expression unreadable.

Bilbo frowned.

"Sorry, am I missing something?" he asked hesitantly.

Gandalf smiled sadly and reached out to place a gentle hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"Even hobbits have heard of Sauron, yes?" he guessed quietly.

Bilbo nodded stiffly. "Of course."

"And have you heard about the Rings of Power?" the wizard continued.

"I- A little."

"There were nineteen Rings of Power forged in the beginning," Gandalf explained slowly. "Three for the Elves, seven for the Dwarf lords, and nine for the Men. The purpose of each of the Rings varies, but the power that each carries is the same, in its own way. Each Ring had a Bearer, and every Bearer ran the risk of being consumed by the power and the wills of the Rings they bore, for powerful magic can easily consume all but the strongest of Bearers.

"Eventually, the Dark Lord Sauron created a Ring of his own- the One Ring. It was a Ring that was made to surpass all others, a Ring that could only be used for darkness. He eventually lost the Ring to Isildur, son of Elendil, after he was defeated in battle. The Ring corrupted Isildur, and was eventually lost when Isildur himself was slain at Gladden Fields. Ever since that time, Sauron has struggled to regain his strength and find the Ring again. He nearly accomplished part of his goal in Mirkwood, and was temporarily driven back into Mordor by the White Council, although I fear that during his time in Mirkwood he was able to gain possession of the last of the Dwarven Rings of Power. The nine Rings of Men are already under his control in the form of the Ringwraiths."

"And… What does any of this have to do with my- the ring that I found?" Bilbo asked cautiously.

"Somehow, Bilbo Baggins, you managed to find the Ring of Power. I can only imagine how it fell into the hands of Gollum, but it is in your possession now. And, from what I have witnessed and from what the other dwarves has described of your recovery, the Ring has already started to awaken. It longs to return to its master who, if he were to get his hands on it, would be unbeatable. The forces of Men, Elves, and Dwarves are not what they once were, and I fear for the fate of Middle Earth if Sauron ever manages to regain power."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Thorin asked warily.

Gandalf hesitated for a brief moment and turned his gaze to Bilbo, his expression tinged with sadness.

"I have already sent word to the Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien," he whispered. "She wishes to call a council to decide the Ring's fate."

"Lothlórien?" Dwalin repeated harshly. "You wish us to attend a council called by Elves?"

Gandalf nodded, his brow furrowing in disapproval when the other dwarves in the room began to grumble amongst themselves. Dís felt her gaze shift to the two elven royals in the corner. Legolas stared back at her evenly, the faintest hint of irritation in his pale eyes. The dwarven princess's face heated with shame and she elbowed her brother in the side once more. Thorin paused mid-grumble and flashed her a small glare, his frown deepening as he took in her expression.

"Dís-," he began.

"You allowed the Elf prince into your personal chambers," she reminded him stubbornly. "And you agreed to let Lord Elrond host you at Rivendell towards the beginning of you journey."

"I did not agree," he hissed. "Gandalf tricked-."

"Thorin," she interrupted. "Please." When the king of Erebor continued to look mutinous, Dís added, in a quieter voice, "For Bilbo."

Thorin winced and glanced down at the hobbit that was still pressed against his side. Bilbo met his gaze for a brief moment before he turned back to look at the grumbling dwarves, his brow puckered in displeasure. Thorin sighed.

"We will attend the council," he announced, his voice rising easily above the protests of his fellow dwarves.

"We will _what_?" Gimli yelped before he was smacked over the top of the head by his father and uncle.

" _You_ will not be doing anything," Gloin muttered.

Dwalin merely sighed heavily, his lips turning up slightly when Ori patted him on the shoulder.

"Why does it always have to be elves?" he groaned.

Thranduil smirked at the dwarf's comment and offered Gandalf a small bow.

"I will send my son and several members of my guard as representatives of my kingdom," he promised smoothly. "If the company of Erebor is willing, my people will be more than happy to accompany them to Lothlórien."

A small muscle began to twitch near Thorin's eye as he nodded, obviously disgusted by the idea. Dain made a low sound of protest from the other end of the room. The King of the Ironhills crossed his arms defiantly in front of his chest when the other inhabitants of the room focused on him, his jaw clenched.

"I trust the dwarves of Erebor to represent the wishes of my people as well," he declared stiffly. "I will stay behind to watch over the Lonely Mountain."

"I must stay behind as well, I think," Bard said slowly. "Laketown needs to be rebuilt, as well as Dale, and I cannot spare any men to send to the council."

"We will keep you informed," Thranduil promised before Thorin could open his mouth.

The King Under the Mountain glowered at the Elvenking before nodding to Bard in a silent promise of his own. Gandalf merely chuckled, his smile fading the moment he met Bilbo's solemn, exhausted gaze.

"Will you bear the Ring to Lothlórien?" he asked quietly.

The hobbit didn't reply immediately. Dís frowned slightly and leaned forward to get a better look at the small being. Her eyebrows rose in silent surprise when Bilbo reached out and clutch the sleeve of Thorin's coat, almost as if he was reassuring himself that the dwarf king was still there.

"I will," Bilbo whispered.

Gandalf nodded and strode closer to the hobbit so that he could rest a wizened hand on Bilbo's shoulder.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely. "And I am sorry for the burden that I have placed on you."

Bilbo offered the wizard a small, tremulous smile and shrugged.

"It's quite alright," he replied with forced indifference. "After all, I've carried the blasted thing for this long. What difference does another week or so make?"

Gandalf grimaced delicately and tightened his grip on Bilbo's shoulder.

"It will be closer to a few months, actually," he corrected the hobbit gently. "I am sure that many members of your company would attempt to murder me if I tried to suggest that you leave immediately."

"Ye got that right," Dwalin grumbled.

"And furthermore," Gandalf continued, ignoring the dwarf. "The other members of the council will need additional time to reach Lothlórien. Some of them are travelling great distances to reach the wood."

"I suppose that it would be too much for you to tell us who these 'other members' are?" Thorin guessed wryly, his eyes darkening with concern when he took in the stricken expression in Bilbo's eyes.

Gandalf smiled thinly, his own features creased in similar concern.

"You will find out soon enough, Thorin Oakenshield," he declared solemnly.

The company dispersed soon after the wizard's last statement, until only Dís, Thorin, and Bilbo remained in the room with the Grey Pilgrim. Dís and Thorin moved to exit as well, only to falter when they realized that the hobbit had failed to follow them. Bilbo hesitated by Gandalf's side, his expression conflicted.

"Gandalf," he whispered. "I… How many months, exactly, were you thinking of?"

The wizard shrugged.

"Well, I suppose that will depend on how fast the other members can be on their way. Why do you ask?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"Gandalf," Bilbo hissed, his voice lowering until Dís had to strain her ears to understand his next words. "The Ring, it- what am I supposed to do if it- if it starts talking to me again?"

Gandalf's expression crumbled slightly and he reached out to pull the hobbit into a tight embrace, prompting Thorin to start forward. Dís stopped him with a glare, her skin prickling with unease.

"Oh Bilbo," the wizard whispered sadly. "I wish that you had never encountered this Ring."

"Yes, well," Bilbo huffed, his voice strangely thick. "That doesn't do us much good now, does it?"

Gandalf chuckled and pulled back to ruffle the hobbit's curly hair.

"You truly are a Baggins of Bag End," he commented wryly. Then, in a lower voice, "The Ring has talked to you before, then?"

Bilbo nodded stiffly. "Before, when I was injured, it… it told me to give myself to the orcs. And later, it told me to go to Mordor, to deliver myself to Sauron."

Dís felt her eyes widen and reached out to grip Thorin's arm. Her brother returned the gesture, his gaze fixed intently on the hobbit in front of them. Gandalf merely nodded, his expression carefully-unreadable.

"And how did you resist the Ring?" he asked casually.

"I nearly didn't," Bilbo confessed miserably. "But…" The hobbit flushed a bright red and flashed Thorin and Dís a quick, panicked look before he leaned closer to the wizard and whispered something in the taller being's ear.

Gandalf blinked in silent surprise, his piercing grey eyes flickering in the dwarves' direction for the briefest of moments before he nodded, his lips twitching in a futile effort to hide his smile.

"Ah," he murmured. "Well, in that case, Master Baggins, I do believe that you will be fine."

"I- what?" Bilbo yelped, obviously shocked.

Gandalf chuckled again and finally pulled away from the hobbit completely, leaving the small creature standing alone near the center of the room.

"Saruman, the leader of my order, believes that dark power can only be defeated by an even greater power," the grey wizard mused. "I have long suspected that the opposite is true- that the smallest actions born of love are enough to keep the darkness at bay. You, Master Baggins, have just proven that I am correct."

Bilbo's blush deepened to a spectacular scarlet and he turned away, his hairy feet pounding silently against the cool stone floor as he hurried to Thorin's side.

"I- Yes, well," the hobbit muttered. "I suppose that that is, well, that. If you will excuse me, I do believe that it is time that we all got some much needed rest."

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I do hope that you enjoy your… rest," he added with a significant glance in Thorin's direction.

Bilbo spluttered something incomprehensible and hurried away, his footsteps slowing for a brief moment so that Thorin could catch up with him. Dís watched them go, her shoulders tensing instinctively when Gandalf rested a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Make sure that someone is with Bilbo as often as possible," the wizard told her quietly.

Dís nodded and gave the wizard a small, swift smile.

"You've seen the way my brother's company acts around Bilbo," she muttered. "Do you honestly think that anything could keep them away from him?"

Gandalf chuckled, although Dís couldn't help but note that the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's another chapter! (Sorry, this one's a bit late, too...) Anyways, quick note here: obviously, the inscription on the Ring comes directly from the books and is thus the work of Tolkien, and Tolkien only. Also, in the interest of time, I did skip over some of the details regarding the making of the Rings and their origins, abilities, etc. If I got anything wrong, let me know! If you want to read more about this stuff, check out the Silmarillion because it's cool. And, um, please let me know what you guys think about this so far, okay? Have a great weekend!


	7. to stubborn ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf's journey comes to an unexpected end. Meanwhile, Thorin is being stubborn. Again.

"Where are you going, again?"

Gandalf chuckled slightly and glanced down at the small mob of dwarves and one hobbit that had been following him around the mountain for most of the past week.

"I've already explained myself several times, Master Dwarf," he replied airily, earning himself a dark scowl from Gimli.

"No, you haven't," the youngest dwarf countered. "You only said that you were leaving for Orc-thanks."

"Orthanc," Gandalf corrected automatically. He paused and shot Gimli an assessing glance, his lips twitching up into a small smile. "I must go and speak with Saruman, the leader of my order. He is the White Council's expert on the Ring of Sauron, and he may be able to give us some advice on how to proceed."

Gimli nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. Gandalf caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Legolas walking towards them. A silver mare trotted behind the elf prince, her dark eyes kind. Gandalf smiled and reached out towards the horse, his smile widening when the animal moved to his side without hesitation. The dwarves surrounding Gandalf hastily stepped away from the wizard as the large horse drew closer, until only Bilbo remained by his side.

The hobbit's eyes were troubled beneath his honey-brown hair, although Gandalf noted with relief that Bilbo did not seem to be as tormented as he had been when the Ring was first discovered.

"You do promise that you will come back before the Council, don't you?" he asked quietly.

The wizard chuckled once more and crouched down until he was nearly at eye-level with the hobbit, his arms held open in silent invitation. Bilbo hurried into Gandalf's embrace without hesitation, his thin arms wrapping around the wizard's neck with surprising strength.

"I will do my best to return in time to accompany you to Lothlórien," he assured Bilbo.

Gandalf felt a small pang of foreboding go through him as the hobbit smiled up at him, his gentle blue eyes full of trust. The wizard shook himself and returned the smaller being's smile, his grey eyes flickering across the faces of the dwarves that had come with Bilbo to say farewell in an effort to distract himself.

"Have the other members of the company decided not to come and see me off?" he asked with false outrage.

"Hardly," Thorin's voice boomed from the other side of Erebor's half-ruined entrance hall.

Dís, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, Oin and Gloin shadowed the dwarf king's footsteps as they moved to join Bilbo and the remaining members of the company. Gandalf felt his lips twitch with a barely-restrained smile when Thorin drew close to the hobbit, his calloused fingers barely brushing against the back of Bilbo's hand.

In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, as Ori had timidly dubbed the ordeal, it had become rare for Thorin to leave Bilbo's side for longer than an hour. Even in the midst of negotiations with Bard and Dain over the future of Dale and Erebor, the hobbit was often seated within arm's reach of the king. Despite a few spluttered objections to his sudden inclusion in political meetings, Bilbo didn't appear to mind the dwarf king's attentions. The frequent interactions between the king and the hobbit had become a source of never-ending amusement for Gandalf, although he noticed that his amusement had not extended to Dís and her sons, who barely bothered to hide their frustration at Bilbo and Thorin's inability to openly acknowledge their feelings for each other.

"We had to inspect a few of the mines before we could come and see you," Thorin explained, oblivious to the wizard's thoughts.

Gandalf merely raised his eyebrows in polite interest, his lips twitching again when he caught the concerned look that Bilbo sent in the dwarf king's direction.

"Aren't you still supposed to be resting?" the hobbit asked wryly, his gaze flickering towards the bandages that were barely visible beneath Thorin's tunic.

Thorin shifted with the barest hint of discomfort and shrugged. "There are many things in Erebor that require my attention. I can't afford to rest when there is still work to be done."

"We threatened to tie him to the bed," Dís broke in flatly. "I don't think he believed us."

Thorin shook his head with a small smile, only to pause when he caught sight of Bilbo's expression.

"Foolish dwarf," Bilbo chided lightly. "Never underestimate a woman when she sets her mind to something."

"Are you speaking from experience, Master Baggins?" Thorin shot back.

Bilbo merely laughed and turned back to Gandalf, apparently oblivious to the flash of jealous curiosity that appeared in Thorin's eyes for the briefest of moments. The wizard barely held back his own laugh and carefully pulled himself into the saddle of his horse. He saw Bilbo's smile fade and felt another flash of unease in his gut.

"I will return shortly," he promised, both to himself and to the throng of faces that stared up at him gravely. "Isengard is not so far from Erebor, and I should be able to return before the month is out if the weather is good."

He hesitated and glanced down at Bilbo again, his eyes lingering on the large blue jacket that covered the hobbit's shoulders in place of his usual coat. Bilbo hadn't dared to touch the Ring after the test with the fire. The Ring, and the coat that carried it, had remained in Thorin's personal chambers, and at least two members of the Company were always posted outside of the door whenever Bilbo was absent from the room. Although Gandalf had held a few private doubts over the ability of the dwarves to resist the Ring's influence, it appeared that the Company's recent brush with gold-lust had made them more resistant to the call of cursed gold for the time being. It didn't hurt matters that the Ring had apparently remained silent since Bilbo's recovery, though Gandalf couldn't help but wonder how long the silence would last…

"If I do not return within the month," the wizard added slowly, his eyes flickering between Thorin and Bilbo's attentive faces. "Or if something should occur that puts the safety of the Ring in jeopardy, I want you to go to Lothlórien without me. The elves of Mirkwood will be able to show you the way to the forest of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel will welcome you to her kingdom with or without my presence. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Thorin replied curtly, his fingers twitching as if they longed to curl around the hobbit's smaller hand.

Bilbo merely nodded, his blue eyes darkening with fear once more. Gandalf flashed the hobbit a reassuring smile and waved in farewell to the others before he set out for Isengard.

*---*---*---*

"...Bofur and Gloin believe that we can start sending teams into the western mines as early as tomorrow, although I believe that Dain has his doubts about the venture. Most of the dwarves from the Iron Hills are not miners, and the reinforcements from Dain's kingdom should arrive within the week. According to Dain, several of our miners from the Blue Mountains had travelled to the Iron Hills after our Company left, so it is likely that they will be among the reinforcements that are coming now. It might be wise to wait until they arrive before we start looking into the mines," Balin reported. The old dwarf paced slowly across the length of the meeting room, his sharp eyes narrowed thoughtfully above his snowy beard.

"I agree," Dís added. "Although perhaps it would be better to at least send some men down into the mines before the other dwarves arrive, just to make sure that the tunnels are safe for mining?"

"Who would we send down?" Balin countered. "Bofur and Gloin are knowledgeable enough, and I know that Dori and Oin are both skilled in engineering, but four dwarves are hardly enough to send into one of the largest areas of the mines."

"Then send some of Dain's men," she argued.

"We don' know if any of Dain's men have the skill," Dwalin reminded her gruffly.

"And I suppose it's too difficult to simply ask him?" Dís shot back. "I do believe that my cousin would know if any of his men were willing and able to investigate some of the mines of Erebor."

Dwalin huffed and glanced over at Thorin. "What do you think?" he asked.

The King of Erebor jumped slightly and flashed Dwalin a blank look, his cheeks flushing with the smallest hint of red as he slowly caught up with the conversation.

"Ah… I agree with Balin," he muttered.

"Really?" Dís said dryly.

Thorin glared balefully at his sister, his hands twitching instinctively towards the hobbit that usually rested by his side. Dwalin snorted at the gesture and turned away before Thorin could glare at him as well, his smile widening when he caught sight of his older brother's slight smirk.

"What's on your mind, Thorin?" Balin asked casually. "Obviously not mining."

Thorin ignored the older dwarf's wry comment and glanced towards the hallway that Bilbo had been dragged into by a pair of grinning dwarven princes several minutes ago.

"…What do you think he meant by that laugh earlier?" the dwarf king said slowly.

"Oh Mahal, not this again," Dwalin groaned, earning himself another glare from his old friend.

"Thorin," Dís broke in before her brother could attack the guard. "We've already been over this- obviously, Bilbo has been around enough women in his lifetime to know that we are always right."

Thorin rolled his eyes.

"But what _kind_ of women?" he muttered to himself. "He doesn't have any sisters… at least, I don't think that he has any. Gandalf didn't say whether or not the hobbit had any siblings, and I didn't see the need to ask until now."

"Why don't you ask Bilbo?" Balin suggested.

"Wouldn't that be a miracle?" Dís grumbled. "Imagine, Thorin actually having a conversation with Master Baggins."

"Bilbo and I have plenty of conversations," Thorin objected, his dark blue eyes flashing with defensive fury.

"Yes, but not about anything _important_!" his sister yelled back. "Tell me, Thorin, have you told the hobbit that you wish to court him?"

Dwalin watched Thorin's cheeks darken into a deeper shade of red and felt his lips tremble with the effort of holding back his laughter. Mahal, he hadn't seen Thorin Oakenshield this flustered since before Smaug's arrival…

"I… have not found the right time to approach Bilbo in regards to this matter," the King Under the Mountain said stiffly.

"Ah," Dís sneered. "Well, then, have you at least told Bilbo that you admire him?"

"I-."

"Have you mentioned anything about how devastated you were when you thought that he was dead? Don't bother to deny it," she added hotly when Thorin opened his mouth to object. "Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin have all informed me that you looked absolutely destroyed when Azog claimed that he had murdered your hobbit."

Dwalin didn't even flinch when Thorin shot him a betrayed look. The dwarven warrior simply lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug, stubbornly ignoring the amused glances that he was now receiving from his brother.

"I have not," Thorin admitted grudgingly. "It hardly seems relevant-."

"Please tell me that you two have at least talked about that fiasco with the Arkensto-."

"Enough!" Thorin barked, his expression suddenly harsh with barely-restrained anger.

Dís fell silent immediately and watched her brother through wary blue eyes. Dwalin frowned and made to move towards Thorin's side, only to be beaten by his own sibling. Balin shot the other two dwarves warning glances before he carefully place himself in front of the fuming king, his pale gaze darkening with concern when Thorin refused to meet his eyes.

"Lad," Balin prompted gently. "Why haven't you talked to Bilbo about any of this? It's rather obvious that you care for him, and I highly doubt that Bilbo would reject your advances."

"I don't deserve him," Thorin muttered, his voice suddenly raw with a vulnerability that Dwalin hadn't seen in years.

Dís and Balin frowned in unison at this statement. The princess of Erebor moved to join Balin, only to hesitate when Thorin hastily turned away from her advance.

"Why do you feel that you are unworthy?" she demanded, her voice noticeably softer than it had been earlier. "You are a member of the line of Durin and the King of Erebor. Surely-."

"It is not my title that matters," Thorin snapped. "It is… it is what I have done with that title."

Dís's frown deepened and she took another step towards her brother, obviously confused. Dwalin, however, realized with a sudden jolt that he understood perfectly.

"Ye're afraid of the gold-sickness," he guessed flatly, causing Dís to freeze mid-step.

Thorin's jaw clenched and he nodded stiffly, his blue eyes fixed stubbornly on the wall above Balin's head.

"I am afraid that I may not be completely cured of the sickness," he admitted tightly. "And I fear going back into the treasury to see whether or not I have recovered. I have not even looked at the… at the Arkenstone. I had Bard and Fíli take it into one of the vaults after the battle."

"Thorin," Balin whispered. "You know that Bilbo does not blame you for the gold-sickness. Even if it did return, he would not abandon you because of it. He would try and help you- we all would," the old warrior added, his shoulders slumping slightly under the remains of past guilt.

Dwalin frowned and nodded in agreement, although his heart clenched at the memory of the pain that Thorin's sickness had caused the Company. Balin had been furious with the king after the banishment of Bilbo, and even gentle Ori had refused to speak to their leader almost until the very beginning of the battle. Dwalin's steadfast refusal to abandon his place at Thorin's side, despite his own anger over his king's treatment of the hobbit, had briefly driven a wedge between him and the young scribe until the Battle of the Five Armies pulled them together again.

Thorin merely shook his head in response to Balin's words, his expression troubled.

"I was cruel to Bilbo in my sickness," he murmured. "I cast him away, and he nearly paid for my mistake with his life. How can I dare to offer myself to Bilbo as a protector and a- a lover if I cannot even protect him from myself?"

"Thorin-," Balin tried again, only to fall silent when the king shook his head wearily.

"No," Thorin Oakenshield said firmly. "I will not ask for Bilbo's affections until I am certain that I will not betray him again."

"And when will you be certain?" Dís asked before she could stop herself.

The King Under the Mountain shrugged miserably and turned away, his muscles tensing slightly when Dwalin moved automatically to shadow his footsteps.

"I don't know," Thorin admitted quietly.

*---*---*---*

The gate to Isengard opened before Gandalf had come within ten feet of the wall.

The grey wizard slowed his horse into a walk and glanced up at the two roughly-hewn guard towers that had been added to the gate, his eyes searching for the men that were manning the doors. The windows of the towers were already closed by thick black shades, although Gandalf thought that he saw the briefest glimpse of cold, yellow eyes peering down at him from the darkness. He felt the horse tremble beneath him and bent down to give her a reassuring pat on the neck, although he couldn't help the way his own skin seemed to crawl with unease and distaste the closer they got to Saruman's black tower.

"There used to be trees here," he murmured to the creature as they walked slowly towards the foot of the tower, his eyes ghosting across the dried, dark earth and rumbling, smoking pits that now surrounded the tower of Orthanc. "Many trees. I wonder what he has done with them."

"Gandalf," Saruman's voice called from the bottom of the tower. "Gandalf the Grey."

Gandalf straightened and glanced in the direction of the white wizard's voice, his eyes settling on a pale white figure that had appeared at the top of the polished black stairs leading up to Orthanc's entrance. Gandalf slid easily from his saddle and spared the horse a brief pat before he made his way towards Saruman. The other wizard watched him approach in silence, his eyes gleaming with a strange sort of light beneath his long white hair. The grey wizard faltered slightly when he caught sight of the odd smile that twisted his comrade's lips, his blood suddenly cold with the unease that had plagued him back in Erebor.

"Saruman," he greeted, struggling to keep his voice light.

"I had wondered when you would show up," Saruman mused airily, his thin lips curving up into something that could almost be called a smirk.

"You have been expecting me?" Gandalf asked with forced calm.

The white wizard simply nodded and gestured for his old friend to follow him inside of the tower. Gandalf did so warily, taking in the dark, metallic appearance of Orthanc's interior with rising alarm as they made their way through Saruman's halls.

"You have redecorated, I see," he observed.

Saruman ignored the remark and settled himself on a black throne that had been placed near the center of a large, circular room. A single pedestal covered in shimmering black cloth rose from the tiled floor in the exact center of the room, its dark marble surface glinting in the weak sunlight that had managed to break through one of Saruman's shades.

"Indeed," the white wizard mused. "I have seen a lot of things lately, Gandalf the Grey. Many, many things."

"Would you care to share any of these things?" Gandalf demanded, his voice sharpening despite his best efforts as his unease continued to mount.

Saruman smiled thinly.

"Perhaps," was all he said.

There was silence between the two wizards for a long moment. Gandalf turned away from Saruman's piercing gaze to better study the pedestal. He was strangely drawn to it, he realized, his mind reaching for the mystery beneath the cloth even as it recoiled from the shadows that seemed to have fallen across all of the white wizard's belongings.

"Do you like it?" Saruman inquired, noting the wizard's interest in the pedestal.

"That would depend," Gandalf replied carefully. "It is rather difficult to like or dislike something that I cannot see."

Saruman chuckled and hastily descended from his throne, his fingers trembling slightly before he pulled the cloth away with a flourish. Gandalf stumbled away from the uncovered black orb as if he had been struck, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Saruman," he hissed. "You know that we are not supposed to use the Palantir except in times of great need. We do not know who else has control of the orbs-."

"Ah, but I do," the white wizard purred. "I know many things now, Gandalf, many things that would have been hidden from me if I had not looked into the orb. Power is not to be feared, my friend. That has always been your problem, you know. You fear power even when it is your only hope for victory- that is why you have failed."

"Why did you decide to use this?" Gandalf demanded, his heart pounding in response to Saruman's words.

The white wizard's eyes were glowing now, their dark color lit with a light that could not be found in sane men.

"Dol Guldur," Saruman hissed. "Our Council was nearly defeated by the Necromancer, and we were almost too late to thwart his plans. If we had only known about the plot earlier, something more could have been done. We could have saved so much energy, so much time…"

"I did warn you earlier, at Rivendell," Gandalf reminded him cautiously. "I showed you the blade-."

"I was troubled after the Necromancer fell," the white wizard continued, oblivious to his companion's comment. "Our lack of power- our lack of information- plagued me until I reached my home. I saw the Palantir the moment I entered, as if it had been waiting for me. Such a wise stone," he chortled. "It knew what I needed before I knew it myself.

"I resisted, of course. Foolish being that I am, I clung to the orders that had been handed down to us. And yet my unease continued, and eventually I could contain myself no longer. I looked in the orb, hoping to make sure that there was no more trouble rising on the horizon…"

Saruman paused and seemed to recall Gandalf's presence. The older wizard studied his companion with narrowed eyes, his expression suddenly dark.

"You failed to mention the Ring at Rivendell," he observed coolly.

"The Ring had not yet come to my knowledge then-."

"And you failed to mention it at Dol Guldur as well," Saruman interrupted. "You neglected to tell me, when it could have saved so much time. Using the power of the Ring, we could have destroyed Sauron in that very minute. The evil that hangs over Middle-Earth would be vanquished, and we would finally be allowed to bestow upon these ignorant mortals the peace and harmony that we have always longed for."

"Saruman, you know as well as I do that the Ring answers only to Sauron, we cannot wield it," Gandalf snapped. He paused as the other wizard's words finally sank in and tightened his grip on his staff. "What evil?"

"The power of Sauron is rising, Gandalf," Saruman hissed. "Even with his defeat at Dol Guldur, he has continued to grow. The orcs have abandoned their usual haunts and flock to him, and Uruk-hai begin to rise again from the deep. The flames of Mordor have been rekindled, and Barad-dûr has been rebuilt. As we speak, the armies of Mordor prepare to march on Gondor, the last line of defense in the south. The Nine have left the Black Gate in search of the Ring."

Gandalf felt the blood drain from his face, his thoughts flying immediately to the small, weak hobbit that he had left in Erebor. He turned to leave the tower, only to find his way blocked by two hulking black creatures.

"Uruk-hai," he muttered, shocked. "What-?"

"The forces of the Free People are not what they once were," Saruman called, his voice almost pleading. "The Last Alliance of Elves and Men is nearly broken. They will never defeat Mordor now."

"And you propose to join forces with the darkness, then?" Gandalf counted, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Is that what your Palantir has told you to do?"

The white wizard smirked and glided to Gandalf's side, his thin fingers cool as they pressed against the other wizard's sleeve.

"We could overthrow him," he whispered silkily. "You and I, Gandalf, together. Sauron will be weakened by his conquest- he will be no match for us. With the Ring, we could defeat him and take his place. We could create a better world, a peaceful world. All you need to do is tell me where you have taken the Ring- tell me who bears it now."

"Tell me," Gandalf snarled, his blood boiling with rising anger. "When did the wisdom of Saruman give way to _madness_?"

The white wizard grimaced delicately and stepped away. With a casual flick of his wrist, he stole the staff from Gandalf's hand, leaving him unarmed before the Uruk-hai.

"Such a shame," he murmured. "But perhaps it is for the better. You were always too soft for these sorts of things."

Gandalf stiffened and prepared to lunge at the other wizard, only to have his muscles freeze and lock in place with a simple wave of Saruman's hand. He saw the black, distorted faces of the Uruk-hai move towards him, felt their hot breath waft over his face as they leaned closer and raised their crooked blades.

Then darkness descended, and he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was kind of on the fence about whether or not to bring Saruman into this, especially since it would require some more canon tweaking. So, for the sake of the storyline, we're going to just assume that Saruman gave into the Palantir fairly quickly after Dol Guldur (especially since I think there were only a few weeks between that showdown and the Battle of the Five Armies) and that it doesn't take that much time to make Uruk-Hai (I actually don't know how long it takes to create those...)  
> As always, if you see something wrong, let me know! If you really like or hate where this is going- yeah, let me know about that too, okay? Thank you!


	8. forced to act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness comes to Erebor and a new Company is formed.

Fíli and Kíli crouched behind the newly-repaired door to the kitchens, their eyes and fingers flickering and twitching in a silent code that no one had ever been able to crack (although Thorin had come close several decades ago). After a few silent moments, the brothers nodded stiffly. Fíli instinctively shifted further away from the door, while Kíli straightened and rocked back onto his heels, his hands delving into the folds of his tunic to retrieve a small alabaster jar. With another small nod in the direction of his brother, the youngest member of the line of Durin waltzed casually into the kitchens, his lips already curled into the mischievous half-smile that many dwarves in the Blue Mountains had learned to fear.

Luckily for him, the dwarves of the Iron Hills were a little slow on the uptake.

"Rolin!" he called cheerfully.

The red-haired dwarf turned immediately at the sound of his name, his thick fingers curled anxiously around the handle of a black ladle. The timid dwarf had become a favorite with Bombur and his recently-arrived wife, and his tendency to jump at the slightest noise had quickly endeared him to the young princes of Erebor.

"Y-Your highness," Rolin stammered, his voice oddly-high for a dwarf of his tall stature.

Kíli's smile widened and he skipped cheerfully to the other dwarf's side. He clapped a hand onto Rolin's shoulder, his shoulders shaking with barley-restrained laughter when the dwarf flinched in response.

"How many times have I told you, Rolin, you can just call me Kíli," he chided lightly. "I'm only a simple dwarf, really. Give me a mug of ale and a bit of roast meat and I'm as happy as an Elf in a tree!"

Rolin grimaced automatically at the mention of Elves and flashed the prince a tentative smile, although Kíli noted the way the red-head's brown eyes flickered towards the cauldron that was boiling merrily atop a roaring fire.

"Alright then… K-K-Kíli," he whispered.

"Kíli!"

The youngest prince of Erebor bit back a groan and turned towards the new voice with a ready smile as Bombur strode into the kitchen, his expression caught between suspicion and exasperated amusement.

"Bombur!" Kíli called, his ears straining to hear the faint shuffling from the doorway that meant that Fíli had gotten away. "How's Mim?"

"Fine," Bombur replied casually. "She's helping the kids settle into their new home as we speak."

"Good, that's… good," Kíli said, his smile faltering slightly under Bombur's piercing gaze.

"What do you want, Kíli?" the large dwarf demanded.

"I- Can't a dwarf visit some of his dear friends in the kitchen?" the prince asked with mock outrage. "Really, Bombur, I can't believe that you-."

The door to the kitchen flew open, cutting off the rest of the young dwarf's words. Kíli blinked and slowly turned in the direction of the newest arrival, his eyes widening in shock when he saw a grim-faced Bofur standing in the doorway. The miner's hand was latched securely around the arm of the older prince of Erebor, much to Fíli's obvious dismay.

"Afternoon, Bombur," Bofur called. "Rolin. Mind if I borrow Kíli for a bit? Dís wants to speak with him."

"Mahal," Kíli groaned.

Bombur smiled tightly, his dark eyes concerned as he studied his brother's features.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

Bofur nodded stiffly, his eyes flickering warily towards Rolin. Kíli frowned and slowly moved to follow Bofur and Fíli out of the kitchen, his hand tightening instinctively around the dagger that Fíli had forced him to tuck into his belt.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Bofur shook his head and hurried forward, leaving the two princes scrambling to keep up.

*---*---*---*

Nori watched his brother pace restlessly from the shadows, his eyes flickering every so often to the dimly-lit corridor that led towards Thorin's chambers and the Ring that was hidden inside of it. Most of the company had already gathered around the doors of the chamber, although only Bilbo remained inside of the rooms (much to the hobbit's dismay). Even Ori and a reluctant Balin had been sent back to guard the doors, leaving Dwalin to guard Thorin and Dís in the throne room.

Dori abruptly stopped pacing, immediately grabbing his brother's attention. Nori slipped further into the shadows and watched as three figures hurried towards his older brother. A silent sigh broke through his lips when the thief recognized Bofur and the two princes. The normally-cheerful miner managed a small, tight smile when he caught sight of Dori, his dark eyes flickering across the rest of the corridor as if he was searching for something. Nori felt a small smile of his own flicker across his lips; the miner knew him too well.

"Dori," Bofur greeted lightly. "Everyone else here?"

"Everyone except Dwalin," Dori replied quietly. "He refused to leave Thorin, although Balin and Ori were forced to join us."

Bofur chuckled humorlessly, apparently oblivious to the half-alarmed, questioning looks that Fíli and Kíli were sending his way.

"Bet Ori isn't too happy about that, eh?" he guessed.

Dori huffed, his jaw clenching as it always did any time he was reminded of his youngest brother's devotion to the gruff dwarf guard. Nori chuckled quietly, only to freeze when Bofur flashed him a quick, amused glance. The miner winked briefly and deliberately turned back to Dori and the two princes of Erebor, taking care to block Dori's view of the area where Nori was hiding. The thief felt another, softer smile rise to his lips and mouthed a quick, silent thanks to Bofur's back before he carefully slipped away, his fingers searching the stone walls for a small crack that he had stumbled upon shortly after they first entered the mountain.

He paused when he found the crack that he was looking for and gave the wall next to it a firm shove. The stones slid away with a dim crack, revealing a small square of black underneath.

"What was that?" Kíli's voice called from his place beside Bofur and Fíli.

Nori chuckled and ducked into the dark tunnel, his brother's muffled curses echoing in his ears.

_Now, then_ , the thief thought cheerfully. _To the throne room._

*---*---*---*

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was not afraid.

He had faced hordes of orcs, goblins, and wargs. He had stared death in the face multiple times. He had experienced the soul-crushing despair of losing his One, and continued to live with the dull ache that came from losing too many loved ones to the violence of war. He had been through too much, and had lived for far too long, to be afraid.

Or, at least, that was what he would tell Dwalin later when the older dwarf half-heartedly teased him about the blood that rushed from his face when the creature walked into his throne room.

Thorin held back a shudder and forced his gaze to remain steady as the dark, towering creature glided towards his throne. He felt Dwalin and Dís tense beside him and quietly reached out to press his fingers against his sister's wrist in a sign of support. Dain stood farther behind the royal family, his stiffened shoulders braced against the hidden door that Thranduil and Bard had hastily been shoved through moments after Erebor had been alerted to the creature's arrival by a shaking guard from the gates.

"Hail and well met, Thorin Oakensssshield," the creature hissed. "King Under the Mountain."

Thorin bowed his head in stiff acknowledgement of the creature's words and waited for it to continue. The thing seemed to smirk beneath the layers of black cloth that had been wrapped around its face, and its rattling breaths echoed harshly in the cavernous throne room.

"I bring tidingsss from the kingdom of Mordor," it continued silkily. "The Dark Lord offersss friendssship to the dwarves of Erebor… and the Iron Hillssss," it added, its dark face turning for the briefest of moments to glance at Dain.

The ruler of the Iron Hills stiffened but said nothing, his sharp eyes narrowed with suspicion and fear as he studied the creature that stood before Thorin.

"Tell your lord that we acknowledge his offer," Thorin replied curtly, his throat working with the effort of holding back a snarl. "But we cannot-."

"Ah, ah, ah," the creature interrupted. "Bessst hear what he hasss to offer firsssst, your highnessssss. Isssn't that what rulersss are ssssuposssed to do? Conssssider all the optionssss?"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward to spear the creature with a glare, his fingers curling reflexively around the sword that rested against his throne. Dwalin's rough hand on his shoulder pulled him back, although Thorin noted that his guard seemed to be having trouble restraining himself as well.

"Speak, then," the King Under the Mountain snapped.

A raspy chuckle filled the throne room.

"The Dark Lord offersss you an alliance against the racesss of Men and Elvessss," it hissed. "He offersss you the Sssseven Ringsss of Power, the ringssss that rightfully belong to you and to your descendantssss."

Thorin sagged back into his throne, his eyes wide with shock. Dimly, he was aware of Dain's muffled cry of surprise and Dís's gasp. Dwalin's fingers tightened painfully around his shoulder.

"In exchange," the creature continued, obviously pleased with their reaction. "The Dark Lord only wishesss that you deliver one, ssssmall thing to him."

"What is it?" Thorin croaked, his mind still whirling with images of a ring that gleamed proudly on his grandfather's finger.

"The hobbit."

Silence fell across the throne room, broken only by the creature's rasping breaths. Thorin stiffened once more, the images of rings banished by the thought of gentle blue eyes and a familiar face stained with blood.

"….What?" he managed finally.

"The hobbit that wassss among your company," the creature explained sharply. "My master would like to borrow him for his own purposessss for a ssshort while. Ssssimply tell usss where he isss and the ringssss are yoursss-."

"No," Thorin said flatly.

The creature froze. Behind him, Thorin heard Dain suck in a low, steadying breath and silently prayed that the other dwarf leader would stand by his decision.

"What?" the creature snarled.

"The hobbit that you have mentioned is no longer a member of my company," Thorin stated flatly. "He was banished on pain of death for betraying my people. We have recently received word that he was killed by Azog the White Orc hours before Azog himself met his demise at our doorstep."

The creature stared in Thorin's direction for a long moment, its harsh breaths somehow louder and sharper in the tense atmosphere of the throne room. Thorin glared back at it, his lips curled in a silent challenge. After a few moments, the shadowed figure turned and began to stalk back to the door of the throne room, its clawed fingers curled around the hilt of the sword strapped to its hip.

"I will return sssssoon," it hissed before it left the room. "Be sssssure to have more pleasssssant newsss. The Dark Lord doessss not appreciate it when hisssss plansss go awry."

"I'll keep that in mind," Thorin replied dryly.

He waited until another guard had stumbled back to report that the creature and its dark mount had left the gates of Erebor before he leapt off of his throne. Stone scraped against stone behind him as Thranduil and Bard were released from their secret hole, although the two taller beings now seemed to be joined by a dwarf with star-shaped hair and a shrewd glint in his eyes.

Dwalin groaned and shot Nori a harsh glare.

"Thought I told the rest of the Company to help guard our burglar," he growled.

Nori shrugged, his eyes locked intently on Thorin.

"So," the thief called casually. "What's your plan?"

Thorin shrugged and turned away, his hands trembling slightly at his sides before they rose to tug anxiously at strands of his hair. He stiffened when his sister's fingers wrapped firmly around his arm and turned to look at her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on the unmistakeable fear in her eyes.

"We need to get Bilbo out of here," she hissed. "We've already waited too long to take him to Lothlórien."

Thorin glared at her.

"We were not ready-."

"Gandalf told us to leave without him if he wasn't back by the end of the month," Dís snapped. "It's been _three_ months, Thorin. By Mahal, it's a miracle nothing has come for Bilbo before this."

"Bilbo was still too weak to travel two months ago," Thorin snapped. "I was only trying to help him-."

"Aye, and the fact that ye were too weak to go with him didn' matter at all," Dwalin drawled, ignoring the fierce scowl that he earned from Thorin as a result. "Dís is right, we should have followed Gandalf's instructions an' left before this. We've been over this before- even Bilbo's begged ye to let us go before this."

"And yet the fact remains that Master Baggins is still here," Thranduil broke in coolly. "Instead of wasting time criticizing your king for his stupidity, might I suggest we focus on how best to get your hobbit to Lothlórien without attracting the attention of Mordor?"

"We'll have to leave," Thorin muttered, pointedly ignoring the elf's comment on his intelligence. "Immediately. Dwalin, how fast can the Company be ready-."

"A company of thirteen dwarves and one hobbit will be too noticeable, even without the guards from Mirkwood," Bard broke in. "We need to focus on secrecy, not numbers."

"Bilbo needs to be protected," Thorin argued. "There are still orcs out there, and goblins, not to mention whatever that thing was. He needs a guard-."

"And how much use will a guard be when it is surrounded by all the force that Mordor can muster?" Thranduil countered. "Sauron will do whatever it takes to get the Ring, Thorin. I'm not sure that you understand how much he needs it-."

"Do not talk to me as if I were a child," Thorin snapped.

"I will when you stop acting like a _boy_ ," the Elvenking retorted icily.

Thorin snarled and turned away from the King of Mirkwood to pace across the narrow stretch of stone in front of his throne. The others watched him silently, waiting.

"If I go with four trusted members of my company," he said finally. "Will that be small enough?"

"Six," Dís corrected before anyone else could say anything. "My sons will go with you," she added in response to Thorin's questioning gaze.

Thorin felt his expression harden and he straightened slightly, his fingers clenched tightly into fists.

"No."

"Yes," she snapped. "Unless you would rather have me with you?"

"Absolutely not!" Thorin barked, his voice now joined by Dain and Dwalin's added protests.

"Well, then," the princess of Erebor smirked. "I will not allow my brother to go across Middle-Earth without his family. Besides, I'd never hear the end of it from my boys if they weren't allowed to go, and they'd only follow you and get themselves into trouble along the way."

"A journey to Lothlórien hardly counts as a jaunt across Middle-Earth," Thorin grumbled.

Dís merely glared at him, her dark blue eyes sad and knowing.

"You really think that it will end there?" she murmured. "Don't you see, Thorin? Lothlórien… it will only be the beginning."

"Fíli and Kíli are my heirs," Thorin pointed out in a last-ditch argument.

"Then you had better make sure that they return home alive," his sister said sweetly.

Thorin groaned and whirled away from his sister, his eyes meeting Dwalin's calculating gaze across the room. His oldest friend nodded slowly as if he had just decided on something and straightened up.

"We'll take a member of each family that was in the Company," the guard declared gruffly. "Whichever person they send is up ta them."

Thorin nodded in resignation and turned to glance at Nori, who had been watching the proceedings carefully. "Inform the others. We need to leave before dawn tomorrow."

The thief bowed and hurried back into the room that he had exited with Thranduil and Bard, his retreating footsteps echoing quietly in the cavernous throne room before they disappeared entirely.

"I will ride with you to the borders of Mirkwood," Thranduil stated after a long moment. "My son will take my place and guide you to our kin in Lothlórien."

"Will you send no more guards?" Thorin demanded.

The Elvenking smiled thinly.

"Your dwarf guard is already large enough," he pointed out. "And my son is more than capable of defending himself."

Thorin sighed but nodded and hastily turned to Bard and Dain.

"I trust you both to assist my sister in my absence," he said, his tone somewhat softer than it had been before. "And I apologize for the burden that I have placed upon you."

Bard shrugged. "You helped my people when they were in need and sheltered us until we could begin to rebuild. I welcome the chance to repay our debt to you."

Dain snorted and nodded as well, although his eyes remained calculating as they took Thorin in.

"….You turned down the rings of our forefathers," he pointed out.

"I know," Thorin replied, his muscles tensing underneath the older ruler's gaze.

"Why?" Dain pressed.

Thorin's gaze flew to the empty hole above his throne that had once housed the Arkenstone and he shuddered.

"There are some things that are more important than gold and power," he murmured. "And I find that I have grown to dislike rings."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Is it bad that I really feel like Thorin and Thranduil could have been pretty good friends under different circumstances? Also, Bard and Thorin are totally bros here. That's my headcanon, and I shall stick with it.  
>  As always, let me know what ya'll think and please tell me if you find something that isn't right okay? Thanks!


	9. on secret travels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families are divided, and not everyone is willing to be left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first: I'm so sorry for not updating yesterday. Second: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! :D  
> Annddd just one last quick note regarding Gimli's age: I have no idea how old he's supposed to be, but for the sake of the storyline we're going to say that he is just barely of age for a dwarf (So, let's say that is about 70 or so), which is why he wasn't able to go on the quest about a year ago.

"I'm going."

"Ori, it's already been decided-."

"I'm going."

"Really, there's no need for such fuss. You know, I didn't even want you to go on the last quest, and it's not like you'll really be missing all that mu-."

"I. Am. _Going_ ," Ori snarled. The young dwarf felt a brief flash of satisfaction go through him when his eldest brother took a hasty step back, his brown eyes wide with surprise.

Nori merely huffed, unimpressed, and started to walk towards the smooth oaken door that had recently been added to their rooms.

"And where do you think _you're_ going?" Dori demanded before the thief could even reach the door.

Nori shrugged.

"As I've said before, I have no interest in going on this trip," he stated. "Both of you have made your own intentions clear enough- I leave it to the two of you to sort things out."

"But- I- This is supposed to be a family decision," Dori spluttered weakly.

"I will not choose a side," the middle brother replied, his voice firm.

When neither Dori nor Ori offered any other protests, the thief quickly made his way to the door and pulled it open, only to hastily step aside as Dwalin hurried into the room. The large guard paused several steps away from the doorway and offered a hasty bow to a glaring Dori, a small smirk rising to his lips when Ori chuckled reluctantly at the sight. Nori simply rolled his eyes and continued out into the corridor, his star-shaped hair disappearing almost instantly into the shadows.

"I've been sent by Thorin to see which members of the Company will make up the guard," he explained quickly. "Who's yer choice?"

"I am-," Ori began, only to be cut off by Dori's hand around his mouth.

The youngest brother Ri speared his brother with a fiery glare and made as if to bite Dori's hand. Dori hastily pulled his hand away, his eyes locked on Dwalin's.

"I am going," Dori amended firmly.

"No," Ori protested. "No, you're not. I'm Bilbo's friend, I want to be there for him, I need to come-."

"No."

The young scribe blinked and slowly turned in Dwalin's direction, his eyes widening as he realized that it was the guard, not his brother, who had spoken. Dwalin stared back at him silently, his expression firm.

"Ye're not goin'," he continued. "It's not safe."

"I can take care of myself," Ori snarled, his eyes tightening with the slightest hint of embarrassment when his voice broke.

Dwalin shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "Ye can't."

He turned away before Ori could speak again and reached out to clasp Dori's shoulder, his jaw clenching beneath the first approving expression that the eldest brother Ri had ever sent his way.

"Be ready before dawn. Thorin wants an early start."

Dori nodded.

"I'll be there."

Dwalin smiled stiffly, his expression crumbling for the briefest of moments when he turned back to the furious scribe.

"Ori-," he began.

Ori cut him off with a glare and violently shoved past the guard, his cheeks flushed a violent red beneath his beard.

"Y-your hammer is by the mantel," he snapped, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts. "B-big strong warrior like you… you n-need it more than I do."

Dwalin recoiled as if he had been struck and silently watched the young scribe storm out of the room, his brown eyes dark with pain and resignation.

"'m sorry," he whispered.

*---*---*---*

Ori grumbled furiously under his breath, his hands tugging violently against the straps of his saddle. His pony, Poppy, made a low noise of protest and shifted slightly, her wide, dark eyes flickering back to him accusingly.

"Sorry," the scribe mumbled. He bit his lip and reached out to run a shaking hand through Poppy's thick, braided mane. His eyes burned with tears that he had refused to shed and he hastily buried his face into the pony's neck, seeking some semblance of comfort from the gentle creature.

"How dare he," he whispered brokenly. "How dare he… Everyone judges me, tells me I'm too weak… My brothers probably still think I'm 50, for Mahal's sake. I thought… I thought that he was different, you know? For once in my life, I thought that I'd found someone who would give me a chance."

Poppy huffed and gently nudged the top of his head as if she understood, her hot breath oddly-comforting in the cold mountain air that wafted through the stables. Ori chuckled weakly and moved to press his forehead against Poppy's for a brief moment before he pulled away, his gloved hands already moving to finish strapping the saddle onto the pony's back. Two leather saddle bags were thrown on after, followed almost immediately by a thick woolen blanket. Ori hesitated before poking through his bags, his fingers ghosting across packets of food that he had taken from the kitchens barely an hour before. He quickly moved on to brush his fingertips against the rough, slightly-crumpled rolls of paper that had been tucked carefully into a corner of the bag. Ori felt his lips curve up into a wry, humorless smile and silently blessed the Valar for the days that he and Bilbo had spent combing Erebor's library for maps of Middle Earth in the days after the Ring's discovery.

It wasn't an Elf guide, but at least he would be able to find his way to the woods of Lórien by himself. Even Dori wouldn't send him back to the Lonely Mountain if he arrived at their destination before the Ringbearer and his Guard.

_I'll show them_ , the scribe swore to himself.

"Alright, Poppy," he whispered. "This isn't going to be easy, but we'll get through it, won't we? We'll show them… we'll teach them not to underestimate-."

_Creak_.

Ori stiffened and ducked down in Poppy's stall, his fingers curling around the pony's reins. Poppy huffed again but allowed her head to be pulled down with the young dwarf. Ori sidled up to the door to Poppy's stall and gingerly pressed his face against a small crack in the wood. His breath caught in his throat when he saw a familiar figure slip past him, his star-shaped hair barely hidden by the dark grey cloak that had been pulled over his head. A large pack was strapped to Nori's back, and his long-handled mace was clutched tightly in one of his hands. As Ori watched, his older brother carefully pried open the door of one of the other stalls and gently led another pony- Thistle?- out of her stall. The thief silently tied the pony's lead to a low-hanging beam and gingerly lowered his pack and mace onto the floor before he started to collect the animal's equipment from another corner of the stable.

Ori continued to crouch down behind the door of Poppy's stall, hardly daring to breathe even as his muscles started to cry out in protest. Poppy, however, didn't seem to share his need for secrecy. The pony whinnied and jerked its head upwards, nearly pulling Ori up with her.

Nori whirled around at the sound of the animal's cry, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously as they took in the bridle that had already been attached to Poppy's head. Ori bit back a whimper and pressed himself as close to the ground as was physically possible, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

To his surprise, his older brother turned away after a few moments and continued to strap equipment onto his pony. Finally, the thief pulled away from Thistle and untied her lead from the ceiling, his mace already strapped across his back. Nori carefully led Thistle out of the stables, his eyes flashing over his shoulder for the briefest of moments before he exited the newly-erected structure entirely.

He left the door wide open.

Ori stayed where he was for a long moment, his breathing harsh and loud in his ears. Poppy huffed and nudged him roughly behind the head, silently urging the smaller dwarf to his feet. The scribe chuckled quietly and gingerly stood up, his leg muscles screaming at the sudden movement. With careful, trembling hands, Ori undid the clasp on Poppy's stall and led her out into the stable, his brown eyes roving carefully across the bags that had been strapped onto her back, searching for anything that he had missed. He paused for a moment when his eyes locked on the carefully-polished knife that had been strapped onto Poppy's saddle and felt another, bitter lump rise in his throat.

The knife had been one of Dwalin's first courting gifts, a weapon that he had carried since the Battle of Azanulbizar. Ori bit his lip and gently pulled the knife out of its sheath to consider the blade in the dim stables. He brushed his thumb against the runes that had been carved into the blade, his lips quirking up into a small, sad smile when he found his name engraved just below the hilt.

The scribe hesitated before unstrapping the knife's sheath from Poppy's saddle and attaching it to his belt. He cast a last look over his shoulder towards the rest of the mountain before he tugged the hood of his cloak over his head and led Poppy out of the stables as quietly as he could. He paused at the stable doors and wondered for a brief moment if he should leave them open as well before scrambling to make sure that the wooden doors were firmly secured.

_Thorin would track me down and murder me if any of the ponies escaped_ , Ori mused.

Poppy didn't move as Ori clambered quietly into her saddle. The scribe ruffled her braided mane one last time before silently urging her forward, his spirits rising the farther he got from the Lonely Mountain. A song rose in his chest and he began to hum, only to falter slightly when he remembered that the song was one of Dwalin's favorites.

"Don't stop now, brother. I rather like that song."

Ori stiffened and tightened his grip on Poppy's reigns. He didn't turn to look as another horse rode up beside him, his muscles tensing when a familiar hand briefly clasped his shoulder.

"Out for a late night ride, little brother?" Nori asked casually.

Ori raised his eyebrows and risked a quick glance at his older brother.

"….Are you?" he shot back.

"Oh yes," the thief replied without hesitation. "The air is always cooler at night, it reminds me of some of my earlier travels to the north."

"You never told me about those," Ori mumbled, curious despite himself.

Nori smiled softly, his expression abruptly sad.

"No, I suppose I didn't," he mused. "Dori doesn't really like it when I talk to you about…certain things."

"Dori can shag an elf," the scribe grumbled darkly.

Nori laughed aloud, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty valleys below the mountain.

"Please tell me that Dwalin didn't teach you that," he warned, voice abruptly serious. "I swear I'll castrate him if he did."

Ori blushed furiously and shook his head.

"….I might have heard Dori say something along those lines when I was younger," he admitted timidly.

Nori pressed one of his gloved hands against his mouth to hold back another laugh, his brown eyes glittering merrily in the silver light of the moon. Ori's smile widened and he rode silently beside his brother. One small corner of his mind noted that they seemed to be heading due south, although the thief was obviously taking care not to ride too close to Mirkwood.

"He loves you, you know," Nori said finally. "He just wants to keep you safe."

"I know," Ori sighed. "I mean, he's my brother, and I get it, but-."

"Not Dori," the thief interrupted. "Dwalin."

Ori blinked and shot his brother a confused look. Nori simply shrugged.

"I know he loves me," Ori admitted quietly. "But he doesn't take me seriously. None of you do," he added. "I'm just a dwarfling to you and Dori- you didn't even let me hold a real weapon until that incident with the goblins! Everyone just sees me as some weakling who's only good for lifting books and writing stories-."

"Stop," Nori snapped, his eyes hardening with a brief flash of anger. "First, no one in the Company would dare to call you a weakling after everything that we've been through together. You have proved from the very beginning that you could hold your own against any hardship, and I pity the idiot who underestimates your skill with a war hammer. I know that Dori and I can occasionally be a little overprotective-."

"Occassionally?" Ori muttered.

Nori silenced him with a glance before continuing.

"We just want you to be safe," he growled. "After what happened to Da, and Vestri-." The thief broke off suddenly and cleared his throat, his expression suddenly vulnerable.

Ori felt a dull pang go through him at the mention of the older sister that he had barely known, his mind flashing back to the fuzzy memory of a smiling woman with bright red hair and kind brown eyes. Neither of his older brothers liked to talk about Vestri; all the scribe knew about her was that the dwarrowdam had left the family's home in the Blue Mountains barely a decade after Ori was born to search for more work in the north. Sixty years before the brothers Ri joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Vestri had sent word that she was returning to the Blue Mountains.

Her corpse was delivered to the family months later, along with the grim announcement that she had been cut down by Orcs several miles south of a village named Bree.

"We can't lose you, too," Nori added finally.

Ori nodded and allowed his brother to lead them further south, his hands clenching reflexively around Poppy's reins.

"So… What are we going to do, now?" he asked after a long moment.

The thief paused and shot his brother a strange, calculating look, his eyes slowly brightening once again with mischief.

"Well, I'm not sending you back," he replied. "After all, you were the only one who was smart enough to bring a map."

"Three maps," the scribe corrected with a small, tentative smile.

Nori snorted playfully punched his brother's arm, his lips curling up into a wry smirk when his younger brother merely laughed.

"Then, you're coming with me to Lothlórien?" Ori guessed, his voice rising in excitement.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Nori chuckled.

"But-."

"I've heard that Isengard is lovely this time of year. Besides, I've always wanted to see the south- haven't you?"

*---*---*---*

The Guard left Erebor just as the sun rose over the peaks of the Lonely Mountain.

Thorin gritted his teeth and dug his heels into his pony's flanks, silently urging the animal forward until he had reached the front of the group. Thranduil and Bilbo both turned at his approach. The hobbit offered him a weak smile, his normally-rosy features pale in the amber light of the morning. Thorin felt a pang go through him at the sight of Bilbo's obvious unease, his eyes travelling unwillingly to the pocket at the front of the hobbit's dark coat.

None of the dwarves had been allowed in the room when Bilbo finally moved the Ring from the pocket of his old, tattered coat into the heavy wool jacket that Ori had made for him several weeks ago. The hobbit had stumbled out of Thorin's chamber minutes later, his blue eyes dark with worry and stress…

"Thorin?" Bilbo called cautiously, instantly breaking the dwarf king out of his thoughts.

Thorin rode closer to the hobbit and offered Thranduil a brief, curt nod, his brow furrowing when the Elvenking merely smirked in response before turning his eyes back to the horizon.

"We should reach the borders of my kingdom by the end of the day if we keep a steady pace," the elf informed him coolly. "My son will meet us and take you to a safe area of the forest where you can make camp for the night."

Thorin nodded stiffly, his eyes narrowing when Bilbo barely stifled a chuckle beside him. He flashed the hobbit a half-hearted glare, his lips twitching upwards despite himself at the sight of Bilbo's smile.

"Please tell me you're not going to start another war before we come back," the hobbit murmured.

Thorin's smile faltered for a moment, his mind flashing back to memories of blood and death and despair.

"I won't," he promised quietly.

Bilbo's smile tightened and he nodded silently, pointedly ignoring the knowing smirks that Thranduil was sending their way. Thorin sent the elf a fierce glare and maneuvered his pony so that he rode between Bilbo and the Elvenking. He heard someone choke back a laugh behind him and whirled around to glare at the offender.

Dwalin rolled his eyes at him, his own pony riding at a steady pace beside Bofur and Dori. Both Dori and Dwalin had been noticeably upset by Nori and Ori's failure to see them off with the rest of the Company, and even Bofur seemed vaguely troubled by the absence of the two brothers.

Fíli and Kíli had also grown strangely quiet after Gloin had joined the party, his face half-hidden by the folds of a thick woolen cloak. The princes of Erebor had taken to shadowing the older dwarf at the back of the Guard. While Thorin couldn't help but be relieved that the two princes weren't causing trouble, he found it odd that they were suddenly taking an interest in Gloin.

Thorin felt Bilbo's hand press against his arm and turned to look down at the hobbit. Bilbo smiled slightly and raised his eyebrows in a silent question, his gaze flickering back to take in the rest of the Guard.

Thorin felt another smile rise to his lips and nudged the hobbit in silent assurance, unable to completely shake the feeling that his nephews were planning something.

*---*---*---*

"…Okay, he's not looking at us anymore," Kíli muttered.

Fíli nodded and silently nudged the dwarf that was riding between him and his brother, his lips twitching with the effort of holding back a mischievous grin.

"So, how long are you planning on keeping this up?" he asked quietly.

The other dwarf shrugged and lifted his head to fix the princes with a steady gaze, his brown eyes flashing with a determined fire.

"As long as I have to," Gimli, son of Gloin huffed. "I'll be damned if they send me home like a child."

Fíli and Kíli nodded with mock solemnity, their own eyes glittering with mischief and glee.

"Well, in that case-," Kíli began.

"-I hope you're not afraid of spiders," Fíli finished cheerfully. "They're everywhere in Mirkwood."

"….Spiders?" Gimli repeated, his voice cracking slightly on the last word.

The two brothers cackled merrily and rode slightly ahead of the younger dwarf, leaving Gimli staring after them with wide, frightened eyes.


	10. and approaching storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gimli converses with an elf.  
> Then everything goes to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, well, happy first post of 2014. Ah, not many notes here except for a.) I should probably mention that I will probably not be shipping Gimli and Legolas in this (probably not... I'm planning on keeping them as friends, but you never know honestly), and b.) this part of the fic was written well before I saw the latest Hobbit movie, so despite my immense love for Tauriel and the adorableness that is her and Kili, she will not be having a particularly-large role in this, nor will she be a love interest for Kili. I'm sorry if that disappoints anyone, but that's the way it is.  
> Thank you to everyone who has read this so far! :)

Legolas was waiting for the Guard at the edge of the forest, his pale hand curled around the bridle of a proud white horse that was nearly identical to the one that his father rode. The elf's silver hair hung in a straight, silken curtain across his shoulders that was broken only by two thin braids that had been tucked behind his ears. Flashes of dark green and glistening brown leather were barely visible beneath the thick folds of his dove grey cloak, and a slim black bow had been strapped onto his slim shoulders beside a quiver full of slender arrows.

The elven prince was beautiful, in an odd, ethereal sort of way.

Gimli hated him.

The youngest dwarf stiffened at the sound of hysterical giggles. He turned and glared at the two princes that had fallen back to ride behind him, his eyes narrowing dangerously when his gaze merely made the brothers laugh harder.

"What?" he hissed, his eyes flickering warily up towards the front of the Guard when the small company began to slow to a halt.

"N-Nothing," Kíli gasped, his shoulders heaving with barely-repressed laughter. "You just- the look on your face…"

"Wha's wrong with my face?" Gimli snapped, his voice rising despite his best efforts as a hot flush rose to his cheeks.

"Nothing, nothing," Fíli reassured him between giggles. "It just reminded us of Uncle Thorin-."

"-When he first met Bilbo," Kíli continued gleefully. "The look on his face-."

"-Was practically identical to your expression when you caught sight of that elf."

Gimli blushed furiously and pulled ahead of the princes with a furious scowl, his ears ringing with Fíli and Kíli's renewed shouts of laughter. His breath caught in his throat when Thorin, Dwalin, and Bilbo half-turned to look in his direction and he ducked his head, silently praying to the Valar that they would ignore the idiotic princes. He couldn't afford to be discovered yet, they weren't far enough away…

"Master Baggins," a strange, musical voice called out, immediately grabbing the dwarves' attention. "It is good to see you again."

Gimli breathed a low sigh of relief and slowly raised his head in time to see Thorin's expression darken with obvious jealousy at the camaraderie between his hobbit and the prince of Mirkwood. The dwarf king and his guards hurried forward to stand around the hobbit, their shoulders stiffening visibly when more elves stepped out of the shadows of the forest to stand beside Thranduil and his son. The two species quickly fell into the usual tensions and cool comments filled with half-veiled threats and insults, completely oblivious to the exasperated looks that they were earning from a certain hobbit.

The sky was shot through with veins of gold and red by the time Legolas was finally able to mount his horse and take his place at the rear of the Guard. Fíli and Kíli silently moved forward to take Thranduil's place beside their uncle and the hobbit as the Guard started to move forward once again, leaving a glaring Gimli and a vaguely-amused elf behind them.

"Hail and well met, Master Dwarf," Legolas offered after several long moments of tense silence.

Gimli grunted and nodded curtly in response.

"I know that this is not the ideal place to say this, but I do wish to offer an… apology for how your king and Company were treated during their time in my father's realm," the elf continued.

Gimli blinked and shot the elf a wary glance beneath the folds of his cloak.

"….Really?" he muttered.

Legolas nodded, his lips curling up into a smile that immediately sent chills of foreboding down the young dwarf's spine.

"Yes," he replied simply. "Tauriel, the captain of my father's guard, informed me that I… owed you and your Company an apology. Although," he added, his bright blue eyes glittering wickedly in the setting sun. "I do believe that she intended for me to deliver my apology to the dwarves that were actually _imprisoned_. Still, I'm sure that this will suffice- after all, you can always relay my apologies to your father when you return."

Gimli stiffened. "I don' know what ye're talking about."

The elf chuckled and started to pull ahead of the younger dwarf. Gimli snarled and hurried to catch up with him, his blood pounding furiously in his ears.

"How did ye figure me out?" he growled.

"Oh, so you _did_ know what I was talking about?"

"Stop playing with me, Elf, and tell me how you knew!"

The prince of Mirkwood merely raised his eyebrows, his expression carefully-unimpressed. Gimli felt a hot blush rise into his cheeks under the elf's steady gaze, his anger rising when the other being smirked.

"Do I unsettle you, Master Dwarf?" he asked silkily.

"You- Don't- I'm not- I AM NOT ATTRACTED TO YOU!" Gimli yelled.

He froze and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth when the other members of the Guard turned simultaneously to stare at him. Legolas reeled back in obvious surprise, his eyes flickering over to Fíli and Kíli as the two princes struggled vainly to hold back their laughter. Thorin frowned and rode closer to his nephews, his eyes narrowing dangerously when the brothers simply choked out muffled apologies.

"Gloin?" the King Under the Mountain called warily. "Is everything alright back there?"

Gimli cleared his throat and nodded vigorously, his pulse hammering frantically in his chest. Oh, Mahal, Thorin was going to figure out who he was and they were going to send him back-.

"My apologies for the disruption, Thorin Oakenshield," Legolas called hastily. "Gimli and I were just having an… animated discussion about… bread."

"Bread," Thorin repeated flatly.

"Bread," the elf prince agreed.

The king of Erebor shot Gimli a quick, questioning look, his eyebrows rising slightly when the dwarf nodded in silent assent.

"Keep your voices down," Thorin called finally. "We don't know what else is out here."

Legolas and Gimli nodded and waited until the king had turned back to his still-giggling nephews before they sighed simultaneously. Gimli shot the elf a quick, embarrassed scowl, his lips twitching despite his best efforts.

"…An' I don't want to sleep with you, either," he grumbled.

"Good to know," Legolas choked, his lips curving into a wide grin. The elf was silent for a few moments, his slim shoulders trembling slightly with barely-restrained laughter.

"I recognized you," he added finally. "Elf eyes are sharper than those of most mortals, so it was easier for me to see your features underneath your cloak. I had seen your likeness once, in a locket that your father carried with him, and I believe that I saw you once again in battle. It was not hard for me to figure out who you were."

"…Ah," Gimli mumbled. "And you won't… tell anyone, will ye?"

The prince of Mirkwood silently shook his head, his smile softening slightly.

"I suppose not," he mused. "It's not like I'll have to keep your secret for very long, anyways."

"What are ye sayin'?" Gimli demanded. "You think I can't keep a secret?"

"Well, you are a dwarf," the prince pointed out lightly.

Gimli glared at him before pulling ahead with a huff.

" _Khuthûzh_ ," he muttered.

"What?" Legolas called after him, his elegant brow furrowed in confusion.

Gimli half-turned and flashed the elf a smug smirk.

"Can't tell ya, it's a secret," he replied airily.

The young dwarf turned and continued on his way, his ears ringing with the elf's muffled laughter.

*---*---*---*

It took six days for everything to go wrong.

Really, Kíli was surprised that it had taken that long for something to happen.

The journey had been relatively peaceful up until that point; Bilbo had managed to keep Thorin from attacking Legolas at least four times, and the Guard had convinced the elf to keep them out of Mirkwood with relatively-little bloodshed (Dwalin still refused to talk to Fíli and Kíli for longer than ten seconds, even though it wasn't _technically_ their fault that the warrior had happened to trip and smash his face into the ground towards the end of the argument). Bard had sent men from the future site of Dale to replenish their supplies a day after they left Mirkwood, and even weather had been behaving itself for the most part.

In all honesty, that should have been the first sign that something was going to go wrong. 

It was the weather that turned against them first.

Kíli didn't notice the approaching storm clouds immediately; true, he was supposed to be on watch, but Fíli had always been a better sentry and one of them needed to have their wits about them in the morning. Besides, his older brother never really complained about Kíli's habit of falling asleep on watch-.

"Kee, wake up."

Kíli jerked awake with a start and glanced up at his older brother. Fíli spared him a quick, strained smile and gently pushed his brother's head off of its perch by the blond's knee, his light blue eyes locked intently on the ever-darkening horizon. The younger prince frowned and followed his brother's gaze, his head cocked to the side in confusion.

"…How long have I been asleep?" he whispered, his own eyes flickering across the slumbering forms of their companions to make sure that no one was listening.

He stiffened when he saw Legolas standing at the edge of their camp, his bright blue eyes distant and vaguely troubled as they stared up into the starless sky.

"Not long," Fíli replied quietly. "About an hour or two at the most."

Kíli's frown deepened and he straightened up at his brother's side.

"And… when did we take over for Dwalin?"

"Three hours after midnight."

"So- wait, shouldn't it be close to daybreak now?"

"Aye, it should," Fíli murmured. "Only…"

"…The sky's getting darker, not lighter," Kíli finished flatly.

The older prince of Erebor nodded slowly, his normally-stoic expression tinged with the faintest hint of worry.

"Damn," Kíli sighed. "I hate travelling in bad weather."

"I don't think that this is an ordinary storm, Kee," Fíli muttered. "It feels… different."

Kíli bit his lip and squinted up at the gathering clouds. A sharp chill seeped into his skin and he shivered, his fingers tightening instinctively around the bow at his side.

"It feels wrong," he added.

Fíli nodded slowly.

"Wake Uncle," he murmured. "We need to move. Now."

Kíli nodded and scrambled to his feet, his calloused hands already slinging his sword and quiver across his shoulders. The youngest prince of Erebor ran to his uncle, his footsteps faltering for the briefest of moments when he noticed the hobbit that was tucked securely against Thorin's side.

Kíli allowed himself a brief smile before he crouched to give his uncle's shoulder a rough shove. The young dwarf leapt back when Thorin lashed out at him and waited for the older dwarf to fully wake up before he drew closer.

"Uncle," he whispered. "Something's coming."

Thorin sat up immediately, his eyes widening slightly when the movement sent a disgruntled Bilbo tumbling out of his grasp onto the ground.

"What in the name of _Eru_ -?" Bilbo grumbled. The hobbit's voice died in his throat when he saw the dwarf king looming over him, his cheeks flushing a brilliant scarlet in the shadows. "I- Oh. Well. That is- I- Well."

Kíli coughed on a laugh and cast another, half-panicked glance over his shoulder to where Fíli and Legolas stood in quiet conversation with a half-asleep Gimli, who hadn't bothered to pull his hood over his wild auburn hair in his exhaustion.

"We need to start moving, Mister Boggins," he told the hobbit quietly. "Something big is coming this way, and I don't like the looks of it."

Bilbo frowned and instinctively reached for the small sword by his side, his eyes narrowing when he saw the lack of blue light surrounding the blade.

"It's not orcs," he mumbled as he scrambled to his feet.

Kíli bit his lip and shuddered as another sharp chill travelled down his spine. Bilbo mirrored the shiver and stared up at the two dwarves with wide eyes, his fingers travelling automatically to the pocket of his coat. Thorin frowned at the gesture and hastily shouldered his pack.

"Wake the others," he ordered quietly. "Tell your brother and the elf to start readying the ponies."

Kíli nodded and ran towards the trio at the edge of camp, his feet lashing out to deliver quick, sharp kicks to the three members of the Guard that were still asleep on the ground.

"Sorry," he yelped when Dwalin attempted to smack him in response. "Need to get up- Now!"

The warrior immediately straightened and pulled himself to his feet.

"Wha' is it?" he snarled.

Kíli gestured vaguely towards he darkening sky and rushed to his brother's side, only to stumble when a sudden wind nearly knocked him off of his feet.

"What in Mahal's-?" he gasped.

"Kee!" Fíli grunted. "C'mon, we need to help Legolas and Gimli with the ponies."

Kíli nodded sharply and hurried after his brother. Within minutes, the members of the Guard were mounted and struggling towards the south, their eyes narrowed against the wind that smashed into them from almost every direction. Gimli lost his cloak before the smoke of their destroyed campfire had even faded into the distance, and it wasn't long before the rest of the Guard were forced to relinquish their cloaks as well. The ponies strained and struggled against the wind, their heads bent in a vain effort to ward off the sharp, cool gusts.

"We can't keep struggling like this," Legolas called from the back of the Guard, his knuckles white around the reins. "The ponies are exhausted already and we're barely moving."

"An' what do ye suppose we do, Master Elf?" Dwalin yelled above the wind.

"Our only option is to double back towards Mirkwood," the elf insisted. "The wind is weaker in that direction, and the trees will act as shelter."

"No," Thorin barked. "This is no natural wind; I will not allow it to push us off of our course."

"We have no other choice!" Legolas screamed above a particularly-vicious blast of wind.

"I hate ta say it, but I agree with the elf," Bofur added hoarsely. "It doesn't look like we have any other option at this point unless you want us all to be blown back to Erebor."

Thorin snarled something that was lost in the wind and roughly steered his pony in the general direction of Mirkwood, taking care to keep himself between Bilbo and the wind.

"Lead on then, Elf," he called.

Legolas nodded stiffly and hurried towards the forest, his steps shadowed by the rest of the Guard. The small group broke through the trees after nearly an hour of hard riding, their skin rubbed raw by the wind beneath hopelessly-tangled hair. The wind weakened almost immediately, leaving the members of the Guard gasping for breath as Legolas continued to lead them further into the wood. Thorin allowed the elf to lead them for a little while longer before he came to an abrupt halt, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

"No farther," he called.

Legolas slowed to a stop and shot the dwarf king an exasperated look. When he noticed that Bilbo and the rest of the Guard had gathered around Thorin in silent support, the elf huffed and rode closer to the group.

"We can't go back out there," he pointed out coolly.

"We will go no further into Mirkwood," Thorin growled in return.

"A straight shot through the forest will bring us to Lothlórien in half the time that it would have taken us to skirt around the forest!" Legolas snapped, his bright blue eyes nearly glowing with frustration in the shadows of the forest.

"The last time we cut through your forest we were nearly killed by spiders," Thorin snarled. "Not to mention the fact that we almost starved."

"The last time you were here, you were trespassers who did not have the benefit of an elven guide," Legolas pointed out curtly. "I can protect you from the spiders, and I promise that I will lead us out of here before anyone even thinks of starving."

"And why should we trust the promises of an elf?" Dwalin grumbled.

"I am a member of your Guard-," Legolas objected hotly.

"The Guard of the Ringbearer is made up of dwarves," Bofur countered, his normally-kind voice harsh and strained in the darkness. "You just happen to be travelling with us."

"Yes, because the dwarves of Erebor have such a good record when it comes to guarding said Ringbearer," the elf prince countered.

Thorin stiffened and made to dismount, only to be stopped by Bilbo's hand on his shoulder.

"Enough," the hobbit broke in, his voice slightly muffled by the shadows of the wood. "This is neither the time nor the place for this-."

"Bilbo-." Thorin hissed.

"Thorin," Bilbo interrupted tightly. "Enough."

The dwarf king's lips curled in displeasure but he nodded nonetheless. After a few, tense moments, Thorin Oakenshield turned and offered the elf a small, strained bow, much to the chagrin of his companions. Legolas considered the king before offering his own bow in return, his pale eyes flickering towards the young, red-haired dwarf that had fallen back to the rear of the Guard with the two silent princes of Erebor.

"I will try and keep us close to the edge of the wood, if that wood make you more comfortable," Legolas offered reluctantly. "However, I will not leave the forest entirely until we reach the Anduin."

Thorin nodded and shot Dwalin a sharp look when the warrior made as if to object. Kíli noted with a small flicker of amusement that Bilbo's hand continued to rest on his uncle's shoulder until the Guard started to move again. The youngest prince glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye to see if Fíli had noticed the gesture as well, only to find that Fíli and Gimli were both glancing back towards the rapidly-fading edge of the trees, their expressions troubled.

"What is it?" he whispered.

Fíli shook his head silently and flashed his brother a tired smile, although the expression didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Fee?" Kíli tried again, his voice sharpening with fear.

"Just keep your bow ready, Kee," Fíli murmured. "Gimli-."

"My ax isn't leavin' my hand, if tha's what you're trying to tell me," the younger dwarf growled quietly.

The brothers smiled slightly and nodded before hurrying to catch up to the rest of the Guard, their eyes flickering warily over their shoulders every so often. Kíli resisted the urge to turn around entirely and stare back into the darkness, his skin prickling beneath the gaze of invisible eyes.

The small company travelled in silence for the rest of the night, and continued on through the shadowy forest well into the next evening. Kíli struggled to stay alert in the murky darkness, his head pounding with hunger and exhaustion. Occasionally, he would fall back to cover the rear in place of Gimli or Fíli, his eyes scanning the dark trees behind them in search of the eyes that continued to bore a small hole into the back of his neck. Once, Bilbo slowed to ride with them as well, his small fingers alternating between the pocket of his coat and the hilt of his sword.

The hobbit smiled thinly at the brothers, his normally-rosy features wan in the little light that managed to filter through the trees.

"See anything?" he whispered.

Kíli shook his head, his own lips twitching into a weary grin when Fíli came to ride on Bilbo's other side, his free hand curled lazily around the hilt of one of his swords.

"No," the younger prince muttered. "That's what bothers me…"

"We know something's out there," Fíli added quietly. "Just don't know where… I'm worried that even Legolas's ears won't be able to give us any warning if they decided to sneak up on us."

"I heard that," the elf whispered, causing the trio to jump. Legolas chuckled humorlessly and moved to take his place at the front once more, only to have his space filled moments later by a grim-faced Thorin.

"You should move back to the front of the line," he murmured to Bilbo. "All of you should, actually," he added in a louder voice. "You've spent enough time on watch- let Dwalin, Bofur and I take a turn."

Kíli frowned but nodded reluctantly along with his brother. Gimli merely bowed his head and started to move forward.

"Oh, and Gimli," Thorin called.

The youngest dwarf abruptly pulled his pony to a halt and slowly turned around, his brown eyes wide in silent alarm.

"Try and avoid the spiders," the King Under the Mountain said gravely. "I would rather not have to worry about running from your father's ax whenever we make it back to Erebor."

Gimli swallowed and nodded slowly, his expression slightly dazed. Thorin chuckled and waited until Dwalin and Bofur had fallen back to flank him before he sent the young princes of Erebor forward to ride with Bilbo, Dori and Legolas. Kíli continued to cast worried glances over his shoulder long after he and his brother had joined Bilbo just behind the elf, his dark eyes flickering constantly between his uncle's tense, silent form and the dark shadows closing in behind them. His hands never left his bow and his skin continued to prickle, soundlessly begging him to find the eyes that continued to watch his every move from the safety of darkness. The young prince struggled to obey, his gaze combing the black depths of Mirkwood with increasing desperation as their party rode further into the woods.

Bilbo shifted suddenly and gasped, his slim shoulders hunched in the shadows as he fumbled for something in his coat. Kíli turned immediately and leaned closer to the hobbit, his fingers loosening slightly from their iron grip on his bow in case the smaller creature needed assistance.

A loud, shrill screech rang out from behind the Guard and Kíli flinched, his bow falling to the ground with a dull clatter that was lost in the thundering of hooves and the piercing screams of the unknown


	11. with strange faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori and Nori make friends with elves, and the Company receives some unexpected help.

Ori stared down into the crystal waters of the Anduin, his fingers twisting uneasily around the frayed hem of his tunic, listening to his brother's hushed conversation with an elf.

The younger brothers Ri had made reasonably good time in the six days since they had left Erebor. Nori had insisted on taking on most of the watches at night and despite the absence of a fire and Nori's tendency to ignore the basic needs for food and sleep, Ori had never for a moment regretted his choice to join his brother on the journey to Isengard.

Neither of them had expected to be surrounded by armed elves on the fifth day of their journey.

The elves of Lothlórien (as they had called themselves during one of their brief, talkative moments) had not moved to attack either of the dwarven brothers, despite the colorful oaths that Nori sent in their direction when one of the elves physically lifted him from his pony to place him in the saddle of an elven steed. Ori had quickly met the same fate, and had watched with a sort of helpless fascination as most of their supplies were lifted from their mounts' backs and distributed amongst the members of the elven company. Thistle and Poppy were promptly taken into the care of another elf and led away with a willingness that obviously annoyed Nori, leaving the two brothers alone in the company of elves.

Ilnir, one of the more talkative elves who allowed Ori to share his saddle shortly afterwards, quietly explained that they had been sent by the lady of Lórien to assist the two brothers Ri on their journey to Isengard, although he had failed to give any details as to how the elves were planning on helping them and why they were even interested in the brothers' small quest in the first place. Eventually, Ori had given up on his attempts to question the elf and, after several failed attempts at pickpocketing his elven guard for any scraps of information, Nori had reluctantly settled down as well. The next two days were filled with sullen silence on the part of the dwarves and the occasional burst of song or quiet chatter from the elves.

Honestly, compared to their last dealings with elves, Ori could almost admit that the entire thing was bordering on pleasant.

Then they reached the river.

"The Wold of Rohan is across the Anduin," Ilnir explained, his musical voice hushed and strained as he bent to converse with the dwarves. Like the rest of his company, Ilnir had seemed to grow more and more anxious the closer they got to the banks of the Anduin, and elf's sharp grey eyes flickered across their surroundings every few seconds, as if waiting for some hidden enemy to burst from the shadows. "You will need to approach Isengard through the Gap, if you are able. Otherwise, you must take your chances with the forest."

Ori frowned despite himself, his mind suddenly filled with images of heavy, twisting shadows and an endless darkness beneath the trees.

"What's wrong with the forest?" Nori demanded roughly, his own fingers hovering anxiously over the knives that were fastened to his belt.

Ilnir shook his head and glanced around them once again, his smooth features creased in something that Ori could almost identify as fear.

"It is a strange forest," he murmured. "Filled with dark and ancient magic. We do not understand its ways, and its proximity to Isengard may have corrupted it in recent times. If you must pass beneath its branches, do not linger, for I fear what would become of you if you did."

Nori nodded brusquely and glanced over his shoulder towards the river, his brow furrowing in obvious displeasure as he watched two of the elven company ready a slim boat that had been perched on the shore.

"….Is the boat really necessary?" he grumbled.

Ilnir smirked slightly.

"Do you have something against boats, Master Dwarf?"

"On occasioin," Nori sniffed, his cheeks faintly green beneath his star-shaped auburn hair.

Ori shuddered again and cast a brief, fearful glance towards the boat, his thoughts flying back to memories of a dark barrel jostled by rough waves.

"We've had bad experiences," he offered quietly.

Ilnir's smile softened and he nodded, his piercing grey eyes intent as they scanned the two dwarves. After a moment, the elf knelt and offered Ori a gleaming knife, his expression brightening when the younger dwarf's fingers curled tentatively around the polished ivory hilt.

"I noticed that you did not have many weapons of your own, Master Scribe," he murmured, his lips twitching around the half-affectionate nickname that the elves had given to Ori after they discovered his small collection of maps. "I would be honored if you would take this, and remember the elves of Lothlórien in days to come."

Ori nodded slowly and carefully tucked the knife into his belt, his own lips curving into a small smile when he noted that the elf's knife was nearly the length Bilbo's sword, Sting.

"Does it have a name?" he asked.

The elf raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"Why would it need a name?" he asked with the barest hint of confusion. "It is only a knife."

Ori shook his head but made no other comment. Nori chuckled slightly and offered the elf a slight bow.

"You have my thanks for the journey, Master Elf," he muttered. "Although if we do meet again, I would appreciate it if you would warn us before you steal our ponies."

Ilnir laughed quietly and shook his head, his long legs already straightening beneath him.

"It is not stealing if we do not intend to keep them," he pointed out. "Come to Lórien once your quest is completed and you will have your ponies, as well as our lady's thanks."

Nori nodded stiffly and reluctantly made his way towards the boat with Ori at his side. The elder Ri stopped for a moment and considered the packs that had already been loaded into the boat's prow, his chin bobbing in the slightest nod of approval.

"The boat will not tip over, even in the roughest of waters," Ilnir called helpfully. "Follow the current as much as you can, but get to the other bank as soon as possible. Orcs and other creatures of the South have been spotted along these shores, and they will not hesitate to strike at you if you come within their reach."

Nori's expression darkened and he hastily herded Ori into the boat, his eyes flickering over to the armed and watchful elves that had taken up position around them.

"Take care, elves," he muttered.

Ilnir merely smiled and pushed the boat into the water. Ori kept his eyes on that smile until the elf had nearly disappeared from his sight, his silver-and-gold hair a tiny glimmer of starlight against the brightening sky. Then the youngest Ri turned and grasped one of the oars with steady hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

 

*---*---*---*

Bilbo couldn't breathe.

The hobbit's searing, aching lungs heaved within his chest, his body screaming and begging for air even as his feet continued to pound into the damp, dark soil of Mirkwood, struggling to carry him away from the cold, piercing screams of his pursuers. Dimly, the hobbit heard Thorin and Dwalin bellow cries of challenge and defiance and felt his heart stutter within his chest at the thought of the two dwarves fighting against the shadowy creatures that had come after them in the night.

Someone shoved him forward and suddenly there were Fíli and Kíli's voices in his ear, begging him to keep moving, to keep running away. Legolas darted around them, his tall, slim body a pale blur in the darkness as he sped past them to shoot another arrow towards one of their attackers before hurrying back to the front of their group, his wide blue eyes frantically scanning the darkness around them for any means of escape. Dori and Gimli huffed and grunted behind them, their own weapons ready and bristling in their hands.

A loud oath from Thorin nearly sent the hobbit skidding to a halt but Fíli shoved him ahead again, his expression grim.

"Keep moving," the heir of Erebor hissed. "You're what's most important right now- we need to keep you safe."

_But I'm not_ , Bilbo thought wildly. _Not really. It's the Ring- that's what they want, that's what everyone is trying to protect. I'm really not important at all… certainly not worth dying over…._

_Give up the Ring_ , an odd, cool voice that was almost identical to the Ring and yet not whispered in his mind. _Give us the Ring, little hobbit, and we will spare them_.

"What?" Bilbo mumbled dazedly, his footsteps faltering slightly even as Fíli and Kíli continued to shove him forward.

_What are these creatures to us?_ the voice continued. _All we need is the Ring…_

"BILBO!" Kíli yelled, his voice cut off in a sudden cry of surprise when five more dark riders burst out of the trees in front of them.

Legolas dove out of the way of one of the Rider's swords, his features twisting in alarm when he found himself facing the blade of one of the four Riders that had ridden behind them. Dori and Gimli attempted to press together in a makeshift wall against the three remaining Riders behind them, only to be tossed aside with painful ease into Fíli. The three dwarves fell painfully to the ground, leaving Kíli dazed and alone against the Riders that were quickly surrounding them.

Thorin and Dwalin were nowhere to be found.

Bilbo swallowed heavily and brandished his sword with shaking hands, his muscles aching and burning with the urge to lower his sword and give in to the voices. The Ring was a heavy, burning weight in his pocket and he unconsciously brushed his fingers against its hiding place in an effort to reassure himself that it was still there. Nine pairs of cold, wicked eyes seemed to bore into him at the movement and he shuddered, his mind suddenly flooded with a chorus of flat, cold voices ordering him to give up the Ring.

"N-No," he whispered, his voice slowly gaining strength as he forced himself to stare up at the towering, black-cloaked figures around him. "No! You cannot have it! It isn't yours!"

_Yet you will soon be **ours**_ , the voices snarled, their icy blades already descending to slice into the hobbit's skin.

Kíli yelled furiously and threw himself between the hobbit and the Riders, his eyes widening in a brief moment of fear as the blades drew closer-

A rider burst from the darkness of Mirkwood and charged the Black Riders, his armored fingers curled around the base of two burning torches. The dark Riders screamed and fell back as the rider hastily placed himself in front of the dwarf and the hobbit. Within moments, two more riders had broken through the shadows, followed swiftly by two smaller figures brandishing torches alongside an axe and a gleaming sword. Thorin roared and slammed his torch into the face of the Black Rider that had been closest to Bilbo, his lips twisting in a furious sort of triumph when the Rider screamed in pain and rode away, its dark robes already engulfed in flame. The rest of the Riders hastily retreated with furious snarls, leaving the battered Guard alone with their rescuers in the heavy silence of the forest.

As was often the case, it was Kíli who first dared to break the silence.

"What in _Mahal's_ name just happened?"

Thorin grunted and reached out to briefly clasp his youngest nephew's shoulder before he turned to Bilbo, his stern features creased with worry in the shadows.

"Bilbo," he whispered urgently. "Bilbo, are you alright?"

The hobbit shuddered but remained silent, his small body trembling. Thorin's frown deepened and he reached out to the hobbit, only to freeze when the smaller creature promptly launched himself into the Thorin's arms, causing the dwarf king to drop Orcrist to the ground in order to support the burglar.

"….Bilbo?" he murmured.

Bilbo sniffed and shook his head, his lithe arms already struggling to push his body away from Thorin's embrace. The King Under the Mountain clutched him closer for a brief moment before he reluctantly allowed the hobbit to leave his embrace, although his rough fingers remained fastened in a steady hold on Bilbo's trembling shoulders.

"Before we left Erebor, I promised myself that I would keep you safe, no matter the cost," he murmured, his deep voice barely audible in the thick silence of Mirkwood. "I will not break that promise, Bilbo, I swear by Mahal. I will protect you, all of us will-."

"B-but it's not me you're protecting, is it?" Bilbo mumbled thickly, his blue eyes locked stubbornly on the ground. "It's the Ring. I'm not that important- not really. If it wasn't for this… this _thing_ in my pocket, you wouldn't be in danger at all."

Thorin frowned and, after a moment's hesitation, reached out to gently grasp the hobbit's chin. Bilbo blinked and allowed the dwarf to slowly raise his face until he met the king's fierce crystalline gaze.

"I will not put a trinket above your life, Bilbo Baggins," the dwarf king muttered. "Not again. I will protect you from anything that would dare to harm you, no matter what you carry in your pocket."

The hobbit smiled shakily and nodded.

"…Perhaps it would be wise to put this discussion on hold for the moment?" an unfamiliar voice broke in with barely-concealed amusement. "Those Riders will return as soon as they regain their strength, and I would rather not be here when they launch a second attack."

Bilbo felt Thorin stiffen and dared to peek around the dwarf's shoulders as the king of Erebor turned to face the three newcomers, his shoulders stooping for a brief moment as he reached for his fallen sword.

"Who are you?" Thorin Oakenshield snapped. "And what business do you have with us?"

"As to business, Master Dwarf, I believe that we have just saved your life," the voice drawled in reply. "By the Valar, if this is how you usually thank yours rescuers, it's a wonder dwarves have any allies at all."

"Thengel," a second rider broke in warningly. The man (was it a man?) bowed his head to the small company of dwarves that had scrambled to surround their king and the hobbit, his features half-hidden by the flickering flames of the third rider's torches.

"I apologize for the behavior of my companion," the second man murmured. "Thengel's words often decide to leave his mouth before they have been fully formed."

"I have heard worse," Thorin growled, his eyes still focused on the figure of Thengel with silent fury.

The second rider seemed to smile and bowed his head once more. "I do not doubt it, mighty king of Erebor. Word of your quest has travelled far in recent months, and tales of your deeds have found great favor in the kingdoms of the south. Even the lands of the kindly west have heard tell of your travels, although I cannot say that many of its inhabitants are as enthusiastic as other listeners."

Bilbo snorted despite himself, his lips quirking up into a wide, wry smile at the thought of the Shire's reaction to any mention of his travels. The Bagginses were going to disown him this time, he was sure of it…

"You never answered my questions," Thorin snapped. "Who are you? What do you want from us?"

The second speaker hesitated for a moment before dismounting, his movements followed with obvious reluctance by the man called Thengel. The third rider remained astride his horse, his features all-but hidden beneath the folds of a thick black cloak. His steely grey-blue eyes glittered coolly in the warm light of his torches, their unreadable depths the only clearly-visible features in the man's face. Bilbo noted with a distant sort of interest that Kíli seemed intrigued by the third man as well; the youngest prince of Erebor's dark eyes flickered frequently in the direction of the third rider, his shoulders half-turned as if he wished to address the man himself.

"I am known as Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the second speaker said, his calm voice breaking immediately into Bilbo's thoughts. "Ranger of the Dúnedain in the North. In the house of Elrond, I have been known as Estel, although I suspect the name means nothing to you."

"Less than nothing," Thorin retorted. "In days past, your friendship with elves would have earned you the wrath of dwarves, Master Aragorn, rather than our favor."

"And yet you travel with Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood," Aragorn replied flatly, his own grey eyes gleaming with something that was too grim to be called humor.

"He is an exception," Thorin grumbled.

"I'm flattered," the elf commented dryly, his silvery hair somehow managing to shine in the darkness as he strode back towards the group. "The Riders have fled beyond my knowledge," he added to the rest of the group. "Judging by the direction of their tracks, I fear that they have gone to the fortress of Dol Guldur to regain their strength."

Thorin nodded tightly and opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by a quiet cough from Bilbo's direction.

"Pardon me," the hobbit interrupted hesitantly. "But you say that you are a Ranger, and yet I have never heard of a Ranger called Aragorn."

"You're familiar with Rangers?" Dori muttered, his eyebrows raised in obvious surprise.

"Gandalf asked the men of the Dúnedain to guard the Shire several decades ago," Aragorn explained. "My kin defended many of the Shirefolk during the Fell Winter and gained some small favor among its residents. To address your concerns, Master Hobbit, I do not go by Aragorn among the people of your lands. To the residents of Bree and beyond, I am known only as Strider."

Bilbo's features visibly brightened and he chuckled, apparently oblivious to the half-alarmed looks that the dwarves gave him in response.

"Ah! Yes, I've heard of you," he mused. "If I'm not mistaken, you saved young Hamfast from an unfortunate encounter with an incredibly rude Man from Bree. I think it was several years ago, actually..."

The hobbit drifted into contemplative silence, studiously ignoring the bemused looks that were being sent his way by most of the rest of his companions. Aragorn merely smiled slightly and offered Bilbo a short bow.

"My kin and I are always at your service, Master Hobbit," he murmured.

Thengel shifted at Aragorn's side and cleared his throat meaningfully. The Ranger shot his companion a half-exasperated look and gestured towards the slightly-shorter man.

"This is Thengel, son of Fengel King, Master of Horses and ruler of Rohan," he explained shortly. "And this-," he added with another gesture towards the third man at his left. "Is Illiandur, son of Daranúr, second in command to the Captain of Gondor."

Illiandur bowed his head silently, his grey eyes cold. Thengel smirked and gave an elaborate bow atop his horse, his warm brown eyes gleaming with sultry mischief beneath his flowing blond hair.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," the prince of Rohan purred. "And might I add that it will be a pleasure to travel with so many lovely companions-."

"Who said that we were travellin' together?" Dwalin growled.

"Well, we did just save your lives," Thengel huffed, looking slightly put out.

"So we've heard," Thorin broke in stiffly. "I do not understand how that gives you the right to assume-."

"You are all going to the forest of Lothlórien, aren't you?" Aragorn pointed out.

The dwarf king frowned and nodded reluctantly.

"We are travelling there as well," the Ranger stated easily. "It would make sense for us to travel there together, especially since it is almost inevitable that the Black Riders will return."

Thorin's scowl deepened and he made no answer, his blue eyes flashing dangerously in the shadows. Bilbo bit back a half-hysterical chuckle and moved to place a small, warm hand on the dwarf's shoulder, his features carefully neutral beneath Thorin's thunderous gaze.

"You did promise to behave," he reminded him quietly.

"With _elves_ ," Thorin growled.

Bilbo simply raised his eyebrows and held Thorin's gaze until the dwarf king turned away, his jaw clenched tightly beneath his dark beard.

"You may travel with us if you wish," he bit out. "Just don't fall behind."

"Somehow, I don't think that that will be much of a problem," Thengel mused. "Especially when you consider the fact that you lot are on foot, while we are on horses."

Thorin barely bit back a snarl while the rest of the Guard glowered in muted embarrassment. Legolas's horse and the ponies had bolted moments after the Black Riders had appeared in Mirkwood, leaving several disgruntled dwarves and a dazed hobbit lying sprawled on the ground in the seconds before they could gather their wits about them. Legolas, Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli had leapt off of their own mounts once they realized that several of their company had been left behind, leaving the animals to flee into the forest without a guide.

Kíli chuckled suddenly and made a high, shrill whistling noise that pierced through the heavy shadows like an arrow. A distant cry answered him, followed almost immediately by the quiet thumps of hooves against dirt. Within minutes, all of the ponies and Legolas's horse had rejoined the group, their manes tangled and dotted with bits of foliage and twigs. The youngest prince of Erebor smirked with obvious pride at the expression on Thengel's face and swung easily into his saddle.

"Fee and I taught them that," he crowed. "Thought it would be a good idea after that incident with the trolls."

Thengel simply raised his eyebrows before turning and riding away. Aragorn offered the Guard another thin smile before going after the prince of Rohan, his movements followed almost immediately by Legolas and Illiandur. As Bilbo fell back with the rest of the dwarves, he couldn't help but notice the slight flash of disappointment that crossed Kíli's features when Illiandur failed to offer a comment on the prince of Erebor's trick.

The hobbit suddenly found himself wondering how Kíli would react if he knew about the tiny, half-amused smile that had flickered across the Man's features beneath his dark cloak for the briefest of moments before it was lost from sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, big apologies if anyone (especially Aragorn because he is a pain to write) is OOC here. Also, tiny notes on Illiandur and Thengel: 1) Obviously, I couldn't have Théoden in here, because, well, Théoden hasn't been born yet. Technically, by the time of the Hobbit, Théoden's grandfather Fengel is still king of Rohan (Fengel was an awful king by the way), while Thengel, Théoden's father and the future king, is living with his mother's family in Gondor due to disagreements with his father. Thengel also has a few sisters, according to Tolkien, who will show up later.  
> 2) Illiandur is, obviously, an OC (as is Ilnir the elf). I originally created him to replace Boromir as the representative of Gondor but he... kind of evolved from there. You'll see, I promise. Anywho, hope you liked the chapter and let me know if you see anything wrong, mkay?


	12. pushing onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maps aren't useless, and Men of Gondor will always have hidden motives.

Nori stared out across the rolling hills of the Wold, his dark eyes lingering for a long moment on the dark line of trees that had appeared along the far edge of the horizon. The thief blinked slowly and turned to watch his younger brother clamber out of the boat, his slim fingers trembling slightly as he started to tug the elven canoe towards the shore. The scribe paused for a brief moment to flash his brother a surprisingly-evil look, his lips twitching slightly when the thief carefully lifted himself out of his seat and launched himself into the cold water with a visible wince.

"…I don't like water," Nori grumbled.

"We need it to survive, you know," Ori shot back.

"Don't care," the thief grunted. "Still don't like it."

The scribe laughed shakily, his laughter trailing off into a light grunt when the bottom of the boat scraped against the riverbed. Together, the two dwarves managed to pull the boat up onto the shore and into a small scrub of low trees and bushes nearby. Nori hastily set about covering the craft with a layer of fallen leaves and twigs while Ori tugged their packs out of the bottom of the boat, his eyes lingering longingly on the scrolls that had been tucked carefully into the prow.

"They'll be here when we get back," Nori grunted. "We can find our way to the forest without 'em."

Ori nodded slowly and settled for buckling Ilnir's knife to his belt instead, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

"I don't think I have any maps of Fangorn, anyways," he muttered. "So they wouldn't have been any use, really… Completely useless."

Nori gave his brother a sharp look, his brow furrowing when the younger dwarf refused to meet his gaze.

"You're not useless, Ori," he murmured.

The scribe shrugged and silently followed his brother out of the scrub, his fingers tightening reflexively around the hilt of Ilnir's sword. The dwarves crept quietly towards the nearest hill and paused, their eyes darting anxiously across the browned grass in search of danger. When none appeared, they moved again, their feet pounding in quiet tandem against the ground, eyes fixed constantly on the slowly-growing line of trees.

"We're not going to make it there before nightfall," Ori huffed.

Nori merely nodded and pressed onward, ignoring his brother's hushed groan. The dwarves continued to run until the sun fell behind the distant, southernmost peaks of the Misty Mountains and kept going well into the night, hardly daring to rest for fear of the orcs that Ilnir had warned them about. Nori shook Ori awake before the first streams of sunlight had spread across the plains and shoved his brother forward, ignoring the slight pang that went through his chest at the sight of his little brother stumbling wearily through the grass.

_Dori would kill us both if he knew about this_ , he mused dryly.

_I almost want to kill myself for bringing Ori here…_

The thief almost breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the tree line after two days of hard running, with no sign of orcs or wargs. The dwarven brothers halted beneath the shadows of the trees and peered warily into the forest's depths.

"….Do we go in, then?" Ori muttered.

Nori shook his head slightly and glanced around in search of another path. He reached into his pack and pulled out a map after a few moments, his lips quirking up into a small smile at the shocked expression on Ori's face.

"Maps aren't entirely useless," he said pointedly, earning himself a startled laugh from the younger dwarf.

Ori plucked the map from his brother's hands and squinted down at the familiar markings. The scribe nodded after a few moments and tucked the map into his belt, his eyes bright despite the shadow of exhaustion that had fallen across his features somewhere in the course of their journey.

"Right," he huffed. "If we go southwest across the Entwash, then cut across West Emnet, we should come to the Gap of Rohan, and through that to Isengard."

"How many days?" Nori asked quietly, his dark eyes combing across the plains for any sign of danger.

Ori shook his head slowly. "Four… maybe three days if we keep at our current pace."

Nori frowned and nodded, his muscles already groaning with the thought of running any farther.

"Right," he sighed. "Let's get moving, then, shall we?"

Ori nodded with a barely-restrained sigh of his own and followed his brother away from the cool shadows of the trees.

*---*---*---*

Dwalin watched the youngest prince of Erebor ride closer to their three unexpected companions and silently wondered if this was the day when Kíli, son of Víli, finally got himself killed.

The young dwarf beamed openly when the three Men slowed enough to allow his pony to join them, apparently oblivious to the exasperated glare that the Man of Gondor was sending his way. Dwalin sighed and pushed his own pony forward as well, his mouth twitching into a small, unsurprised smile when Bilbo and Fíli casually began to follow him. The burglar and the prince had made no secret of their interest in Kíli's obvious fascination with Illiandur, and it was nearly impossible for Kíli to be within earshot of the Man without either the hobbit or the other dwarf nearby.

"You know, I was wondering earlier," Kíli proclaimed to the three men. "Isn't it very inconvenient for you all to be so tall?"

"What makes you say that, Master Dwarf?" Thengel asked, his brown eyes half-glowing with amusement.

Kíli shrugged and grinned, his enthusiasm apparently unaffected by Aragorn's silence and Illiandur's obvious annoyance.

"Well, you can't hide very well," he informed the horseman. "Dwarves and hobbits can slip into tunnels and corners that Men and Elves are too tall to fit into, and it's easier for us to sneak past things like Orcs, Goblins, and Dragons- they don't tend to look down much, you know, unless they know we're coming-."

"It's hard to _not_ know when dwarves are coming," Illiandur broke in curtly. "You lot are so loud that it's a miracle you can sneak up on anything."

Kíli's beamed at the man's comment, which only seemed to infuriate Illiandur further.

"We're _dwarves_ ," he chirped, as if that explained everything. "We're supposed to be loud- it strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies. I'm just pointing out that if we wanted to, we'd have an easier time of sneaking past our enemies than taller folk."

"Yes, well, that's assuming that the men in question are actually tall," Thengel reflected with a faint smirk. "This may surprise you, Master Dwarf, but there are a few Men who are nearly as small as dwarves- isn't that right, Illiandur Shortarm?"

The warrior of Gondor flushed a brilliant red and fixed Thengel with a glare that should have struck the other man dead. Thengel merely smiled innocently and turned back to Kíli, who was now staring up at Illiandur in obvious awe.

"Are you part dwarf, Master Shortarm?" he asked curiously.

"No, I am _not_ ," Illiandur growled, his lips curling when he caught sight of Aragorn's barely-restrained smile.

The warrior snarled and urged his horse forwards, the hood of his dark cloak falling away for a brief moment to reveal shoulder length, red-gold hair that glowed like a star in the sunlight. Kíli watched the man go, his smile finally fading into a faint, childish pout. The dark-haired prince stiffened and shot a fiery glare at his brother when Fíli choked back a laugh, his bare cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"What?" he growled.

The heir of Erebor simply shook his head with a small smile.

"Well done, brother," he chuckled.

Kíli snarled something at his brother in Khuzdul and turned away with a huff. Bilbo sighed and moved closer to Kíli, his own lips twitching upwards in a barely-restrained smile.

"Don't listen to your brother," the hobbit whispered loudly. "He's just jealous because he doesn't have anyone to pine over."

Kíli's blush deepened to a spectacular scarlet at Bilbo's words, even as his frown began to morph into a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I can't wait for that," he purred, his smile widening even as the blood started to drain from Fíli's tanned cheeks.

"Aye, an' if it makes ye feel better, laddie, yer much better at flirtin' than Thorin was at yer age," Dwalin broke in. The warrior smirked when Bilbo and Kíli both turned to stare at him in shock. "He could barely open his mouth to breathe, let alone speak-."

"If I remember correctly, you weren't much better, Dwalin," Thorin called from behind them.

"Aye, but at least I've improved," the warrior yelled back.

The King Under the Mountain grumbled under his breath and speared Dwalin with an evil look, his lips twisting slightly when he caught sight of the confused, half-envious look on Bilbo's features.

"And… did you… end up speaking to this person that you were so interested in?" the hobbit asked cautiously.

Thorin blinked slowly and opened his mouth, his ears flushing a dark red beneath the amused gazes of his dwarven companions.

"Aye, he's _spoken_ to them, alright," Dori said primly when the king failed to speak. "Whether he's said anything of merit is another matter."

Dwalin heaved a sigh and pulled back to ride between the king and the gentler dwarf, his dark eyes flickering warily between the two in case he needed to stop his oldest friend from murdering their companion. Ori would kill him if he let his eldest brother get murdered before they even reached Lothlórien.

_Ori…_

Dwalin cringed at the thought of the scribe, his thoughts going to the memory of the betrayed look in the other dwarf's eyes when he had shoved past him into the dark halls of Erebor. The war hammer that he had given to Ori shortly after their run in with the goblins was a heavy weight on his back, a constant reminder of the pain that he couldn't quite leave behind.

_He'll understand when we get back_ , Dwalin told himself sternly. _Once I can explain everything, let him know that I just wanted to keep him safe… He'll understand._

_He has to._

A quick, fleeting image crept into Dwalin's mind before he could stop himself: a glimpse of Ori face-to-face with one of the Black Riders that had chased them into the Mirkwood, his slim shoulders trembling beneath the folds of one of his precious cardigans. The warrior shuddered and violently shoved the image away, his heart clenching painfully at the mere thought of the scribe coming anywhere near such a creature.

_He'll understand why I couldn't let him come_ , he told himself once again. _He'll understand…_

*---*---*---*

It was easier than Aragorn had expected it to be for him to slip away from Thengel and the dwarves later that evening.

To be fair, the dwarves (and Bilbo, for that matter) developed a single-minded focus when it came time to set up camp, and the careful attention that Bilbo and Dori devoted to the preparation of supper was almost frightening to the ranger. Thengel's unawareness was harder to excuse, although Aragorn would readily admit that it was easy to get distracted by the vibrant energy of seven dwarves and the simple, quiet presence of a hobbit. Legolas alone was watching when Aragorn finally crept away from the warm, merry crackling of Gimli's fire- but, then again, it was nearly impossible to sneak away from an elf.

_It's nearly impossible to sneak up on one, too_ , the ranger reflected wryly, his lips curling up into a rare smile as the image of laughing blue eyes framed by serene, ivory features flickered through his thoughts.

_I never could surprise her…_

Illiandur didn't look up when Aragorn sat down beside him on the outskirts of their camp. The Man of Gondor had curtly demanded the first watch before anyone had even suggested that the company should stop for the night, and had immediately moved to the farthest edge of the camp the moment the 12 riders had come to a halt near the banks of the River Anduin.

"…I'm fairly certain that young Kíli imagined that he was giving you a compliment when he asked if you were part dwarf, Andur," the ranger murmured.

Illiandur glared at him and turned away with a huff, his calloused fingers curling instinctively around the hilt of his sword.

"I swear by the Valar, I'll gut the next person who brings up that damned conversation," he muttered darkly.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Aragorn continued, blithely ignoring the shorter man's threats. "Dwarves aren't like the men of Gondor, Andur- they appreciate a man for his worth, not for his height."

Pale lips twisted in response to some remembered slight before settling into a stiff, stubborn line. Illiandur growled under his breath and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes narrowing dangerously when he glanced over his shoulder to see that the youngest prince of Erebor was now watching their conversation with obvious interest from the other side of the camp.

"Gods, can't the boy leave me a single moment of peace?" he muttered darkly.

"You could have worse admirers," Aragorn pointed out flatly, his white lips twitching slightly at the half-horrified look that the Man of Gondor sent his way in response. "…And I'm not sure that you could really call him a boy. Even the youngest member of the dwarven Guard is nearly twice your age."

"What does it matter? I will outlive them all," Illiandur snapped, his voice thick with old bitterness and the remnants of ancient sadness.

"I'm not so sure," the ranger murmured. "The average life span of a dwarf is about 250 years. Even men who share the blood that we do can have a hard time living to that age. Honestly, Andur, the dwarven prince could end up being one of the few partners that you wouldn't outlive."

"Is that your advice, then?" Illiandur snapped. "To attach myself to a dwarven youth so that I won't have to worry about watching my beloved die? What, am I too small to find myself an elf?"

Aragorn frowned.

"Leave her out of this," he whispered.

"I will if you leave me alone!" Illiandur hissed. "I'm not here to make friends with dwarven princelings, son of Arathorn."

"Then what are you here for?" Aragorn demanded. "Forgive me, _cousin_ , but somehow I don't believe that you left your position in Gondor as a way to reconnect with one of your long-lost relations."

The soldier of Gondor stiffened and shot Aragorn a reproachful glare, his steel-grey eyes briefly vulnerable.

"…I volunteered to escort the heir of Rohan out of concern for his safety," he growled.

"I don't believe you," Aragorn murmured. "Thengel may act like a fool, but you know as well as I do that he is a greater warrior than even Denethor."

Illiandur's eyes narrowed at the mention of the heir to the Steward of Gondor, his lips parting in an instinctive urge to defend his captain. Aragorn held his gaze for a long moment before he glanced back towards the rest of the camp, his eyes lingering on the place where Bilbo and Fíli had now joined Kíli, their tired expressions bright with amusement. Thorin and three of his Guard hovered nearby in deep conversation with Thengel, while Gimli was apparently attempting to demonstrate basic metallurgy to a bemused Legolas.

"I need to know where your loyalties lie, Illiandur," the ranger whispered. "I have come to learn what I must do to assist Middle Earth and the Lady of Lórien in her hour of need- why have you come?"

"Do not preach to me, Ranger," Illiandur snapped, his eyes flashing in defensive anger. "You act like such a selfless man, willing to risk it all for the common good, but I know what you truly want. You're trying to prove yourself, son of Arathorn; you're trying to prove that you can be king." The shorter man leaned forward until his mouth was inches away from Aragorn's ear, shoulders heaving with barely-restrained shouts.

"You aren't ready to be king," he hissed. "Not yet. Show me the man who can lead his people into hell without a moment of doubt and rebuild a broken city from a pile of ash. _That_ is the man that I will follow, _that_ is the man who I will call my king. Until then, I have no king- I am merely an unwanted pawn who worked his way to the top and will do anything in his power to defend his city."

With that, Illiandur turned and stormed away from the camp towards the plains that spread out behind them, ignoring the questions that were sent his way by the rest of their companions. Aragorn remained by the riverbanks, his mind whirling as he stared out across the roiling waters of the Anduin.

Wait.

The ranger scrambled to his feet, his eyes flickering frantically across the dark waters in search of the disturbance.

"Legolas!" he called, causing even Illiandur to stop in his tracks and turn around.

Within moments, the elf was at Aragorn's side, followed closely by Thengel, Thorin, and Dwalin. Behind them, Bofur, Dori, and Gimli shifted into a makeshift circle around Bilbo, while the princes of Erebor immediately pressed their backs together in preparation for battle. Illiandur drew his sword and silently made his way back towards their mounts and supplies, his bright eyes combing the darkness for any hidden threat.

"What is it?" Thorin demanded sharply.

Aragorn shook his head and motioned for Legolas to come closer.

"Who is coming towards us across the water?" he hissed. "Are they friend or foe?"

The elven prince frowned and carefully inspected the shadows around the river, his shoulders falling infinitesimally in relief before Aragorn could take another breath.

"Elves," he whispered. "They bear the leaves of Lothlórien."

"Fantastic," Dwalin grumbled under his breath. "More elves…"

"Be thankful they are not Orcs," Thengel whispered back.

A high, piercing shriek broke through the night behind them, followed closely by the fierce roars of approaching orcs. Aragorn sighed and glared at the warrior of Rohan. Thengel simply shrugged, his expression sheepish.

"Sorry?" he mouthed moments before the first of the elven boats scraped against the back.

"Thorin Oakenshield?" one of the elves called out.

"Yes?" Thorin demanded, his sword ready in his hands.

The elf bowed slightly, his muscles tensing when another cry broke through the air.

"You and your company are to come with me," he informed them. "We will take you to safety."

Thorin frowned, his eyes flickering warily over his shoulder as the shrieking drew closer.

"Take the Hobbit and half of my guard," he grunted. "I will stay behind and help to hold them off until you can get to safety."

"I'm afraid that that isn't an option, your majesty," the elf informed him flatly.

Thorin's frown deepened into a fierce glare. "I will not flee before these creatures."

The elf simply stared back, his expression unreadable even as two of his companions leapt from the boat and casually tossed Thorin and Dwalin into the nearest craft as if they were no more than sacks of flour.

"I'm afraid you have no other choice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, just in case I wasn't very clear here, Aragorn and Illiandur are both Numenorian, which means that they will both have insanely long lives compared to normal men like Thengel (according to Tolkien, Aragorn was 210 when he died so...). Also, for the sake of the plot, let's just assume that Aragorn and Arwen have already grown to love each other. Anywho, hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and let me know if you have any questions, saw anything wrong, or just enjoyed what you read! Thanks!


	13. to sudden ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to Isengard ends in tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say that there would be character death... And trust me, this is just the beginning (I swear I'm not evil!)

Ori stared up at the steep, bleak crags, his shoulders hunched against the sharp, icy wind that whipped through the pass around them. It was odd, really- for some reason he had expected the wind to die down as the trees of Fangorn thinned into a small strip of trunks, reaching into the rocky passage of the Gap like spindly fingers.

He should have known better, of course. The winds of Ered Luin and the Misty Mountains had been far more bitter than any chill breeze that had attacked the brothers during their long trek towards the Gap of Rohan.

Nori had done most of the navigating since their crossing of the Wold to the edge of Fangorn two days ago. The thief had chosen to keep as close to the forest as possible as the two brothers hurried towards bleak, foreboding peaks that made up the southernmost edge of the Misty Mountains. The older dwarf had barely allowed them to stop for longer than an hour or two of rest, and was now huddled beneath one of the few remaining trees, his long nose buried in the weathered folds of their map.

"Ori, come here," he called quietly, his hoarse voice barely audible above the wind.

Ori went to him immediately, his eyes flickering over his shoulder for one last glimpse of the dark peaks.

"What is it?" he asked.

Nori's brow furrowed beneath his tangled, half-spiked auburn hair and he silently traced a small line from the base of the peaks to a tiny black dot nestled into what seemed to be a small valley.

"That's it, aye?" he muttered. "That's what we're aiming for."

Ori craned his neck to get a better view of the map and nodded slowly. "Yes, that's Isengard, according to the map." He frowned. "…Where are we, exactly?"

Nori shrugged and moved his finger to the base of the mountains once again, his features creased in obvious weariness.

"It's at least half a day's march if we stick to the course that we're on," he sighed. "Maybe a day. And that's only if we don't run into Orcs…"

The scribe bit his lip and looked up from the map, his tired eyes searching their surroundings for any approaching danger. Neither of the dwarves had seen any sign of life since their departure from the elves at the Anduin. And while Ori would be the first to admit that it was nice to not have to worry about fighting bloodthirsty creatures every minute of the day, the absence of danger was… unnatural, especially after Ilnir's warnings about a strong Orc presence in the area. Nori grunted and slowly pulled himself to his feet, his eyes tightening in pain as he slowly stretched his aching muscles.

"Right," he huffed. "Shall we keep moving, then?"

Ori nodded and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. The brothers continued on in silence, their small figures further dwarfed by the towering mountains and trees that surrounded them. All was silent except for the whistling of the wind and the low, harsh breathing of the travelers.

"… Master Scribe?"

Ilnir's knife was clutched in Ori's hand before he could draw a breath. The scribe whirled around barely a second after his brother, the point of his weapon aimed with surprising-steadiness at the chest of a slightly-bemused elf.

"Ilnir," he gasped, his arm lowering automatically the moment he recognized the elf's pale features and glistening silver-gold hair.

The elf of Lothlórien smiled and offered the brothers a short, graceful bow, his motions quickly mirrored by several other elves that seemed to materialize from the trees around them.

"My apologies," the elf murmured. "We did not mean to startle you."

"Yes, well, you did," Nori grumbled, his shoulders slumping in undeniable relief as he slowly sheathed his knives. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to wait on the other side of the river or go back to your forest."

"We were," another elf replied coolly. "But the Lady Galadriel sent us a message shortly after your departure. Members of your kin were attacked by Nazgûl at the edge of Mirkwood. The Lady feared that you would face similar dangers, and sent us to assist you until you made your journey to Lórien."

"Nazgûl?" Nori repeated sharply. "Were any of them hurt?"

The elf shrugged, his features unreadable in the cool light.

"We received no word of any deaths among them," he replied. "Although, to be fair, we did not ask."

"Other members of our own kin were sent to make sure that your friends made it to Lórien safely," Ilnir broke in before Nori could say anything. "The Lady Galadriel is very concerned about the fate of your kin and the Ringbearer. She will ensure their safety."

Nori studied the elf for a long moment before he nodded jerkily, his lips still pursed in obvious displeasure.

"…I don't suppose you brought horses with you?" he sighed.

"We did not see the need," Ilnir admitted, confused.

Nori nodded slowly and flashed Ori a martyred look, his lips twitching slightly at the scribe's own barely-hidden smile.

"Try and keep up then, elves," he huffed.

Ilnir laughed quietly and quickly fell into step beside Ori and his brother, his grey eyes calm and alert as they scanned the trees around them. The other elves silently fanned out around the trio and disappeared amongst the trees and cliffs of the Gap. Ori didn't see the elves for the remainder of their journey further into the Gap- even the brief pause that Nori and Ilnir allowed them shortly after the sun set remained free of the presence of any of Ilnir's companions. The scribe shrugged and curled up on the hard ground for a brief, precious hour of sleep, his ears unconsciously straining to pick up the hushed words of his companions.

"…And you're sure that none of them were injured?" the thief pressed.

Ilnir seemed to sigh. "As far as I know, neither the Ringbearer, nor any member of his Guard was seriously harmed-."

" _Seriously_ harmed," Nori repeated harshly. "That doesn't rule out any other type of harm."

"Master Dwarf, I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to-."

"Our _family_ is out there, Elf," the thief snarled. "Our elder brother, our king, Ori's beloved, my-."

The dwarf paused and cleared his throat, causing Ori's eyes to fly open in shock. The younger dwarf silently wriggled around so as to have a better view of his two companions, his curious gaze meeting Ilnir's half-amused silver eyes for a brief moment before the elf focused once more on the flustered thief.

"Your…?" he prompted quietly.

Nori glared at the elf, his hands twitching dangerously towards one of the many knives that were hidden on his person.

"Friends," he grunted. "My friends."

"Ah," Ilnir hummed. "Then, if you will accept my assurances, Master Thief, I swear that my kin and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you are reunited with your family and your _friends_ after all of this is over. You will see them again in this life, Nori."

Nori started at the elf's use of his actual name. He studied his companion for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the pale moonlight that had managed to filter through the gathering clouds above them.

"I will hold you to that promise," he said finally. "…Ilnir."

Ori felt his lips curve into a wide smile and pulled the folds of his cloak around him once more, his eyelids closing into the deepest sleep that he had experienced in days.

He was shaken awake barely two hours later, his eyes clouded with exhaustion even as he automatically moved to secure his pack to his shoulders and scramble to his feet. Ilnir flashed him a small, patient smile and wordlessly handed him a wafer of travelling bread (what had the elf called it- _lembas_?) before moving on to help a grumbling, weary Nori roll up the maps.

"We're not far from the fortress now," the thief informed them quietly. "If we hurry, we should be able to reach the outer walls before noon-."

Loud, savage screams erupted ahead, their piercing cries slamming into Ori's unsuspecting eardrums like one of Dwalin's warhammers. Ilnir tensed and whipped his bow off of his shoulders, one of his arrows already notched on the string.

"Hide in the trees, quickly," he hissed. "Before they see you."

"Like hell we-," Nori began furiously.

" _Listen_ to me," Ilnir interrupted. "Saruman the White has always been a friend to the elves, but not to dwarves. If he sees either of you, he may believe that something is amiss and attack us, whereas if he believes that I am alone…"

Nori grunted furiously but bit back another protest and allowed his younger brother to drag him back beneath the shadows of the trees. The dwarves quickly scrambled up into the branches, their minds suddenly filled with memories of howling wargs and a slumped, kingly figure half-hidden by burning fire. Ori shuddered and clutched himself closer to his branch, his ears ringing with the screams of creatures that could only be Orcs. Nori was silent and still beside him, his own eyes locked with a furious intensity on the lone figure of Ilnir as the elf strode out into the center of the Gap to meet the arrivals.

A pack of rabid, howling Orcs descended upon him within moments, their grey, hulking bodies filing into a large, sloppy ring around the pale elf. The creatures jeered and screamed at the tense, silent being before them but made no move to attack him, their actions restrained by some unknown power.

Then the voice began to speak.

"Master elf," it cried, seeming to come from the very heights of the mountains and the very depths of the earth all at once. "What brings you this close to Isengard? Surely any business with the Lady of Lórien would have been brought to my attention before she would deign to send a representative?"

Ori shifted at the sound of the voice, momentarily mesmerized by the rich, beautiful, almost gentle quality of its words, the wisdom that seemed to drip from every syllable, begging for someone to hear its meaning and follow it to greatness…

Ilnir seemed unaffected by the voice. The elf lifted his bow ever-so-slightly and slowly turned to take in the enemies around him, his pale eyes combing the hideous ranks for a sign of the voice's source.

"Hail and well met, my lord Saruman the White, wisest of all beings and leader of the Great Council," he greeted carefully. "I come to ask for your assistance in regards to an informal inquiry that has been raised on behalf of my Lady and Queen."

"And what inquiry is this?" the voice demanded, its tones hardening in a way that sent shivers down Ori's spine.

"An inquiry as to the location of Gandalf the Grey, my lord," Ilnir replied frankly. "According to all accounts, Isengard was his last known destination, and he is needed in Lothlórien."

Silence fell over the Gap, unbroken even by the Orcs that had begun to draw closer to Ilnir in an ever-tightening circle. The elf whirled around repeatedly to keep all of them in his sights, his careful façade slipping to reveal something that was almost frantic. Nori sucked in a sharp breath and reached down to grasp two of his knives but Ori didn't move, his entire being waiting breathlessly for the voice's response.

It came in a cry like thunder that rent the air around them and drew darkness down in a thick, choking curtain.

" _Gandalf the Grey is dead_ ," the voice screamed, and suddenly it wasn't a wise voice at all but a savage one, twisted and torn until it was closer to a beast than a man. " _His body now lies atop Orthanc, where it shall remain until birds and beasts have feasted of its flesh_."

Ilnir reeled back in shock, his bow slipping from his grasp for the briefest of moments.

It was enough.

Ori screamed in horror when an Orc leapt forth and drove its spear through the elf's neck, his wide eyes unable to move from the sight as the elf crumpled onto the ground in a pool of blood that was quickly covered by a writhing mass of black and grey. Another loud, savage cry echoed from the mountain peaks and the depths of the earth, its words sending thrills of horror down Ori's spine.

"There are others… _find them_."

Nori swore and started to scramble down from the branches, his rough fingers tugging roughly, painfully at Ori's arms and shoulders in an attempt to force his brother to move. Ori didn't budge, barely breathed, his eyes still locked on the place where Ilnir used to stand, silently begging the elf to stand up again, to reappear among the Orcs so that the scribe could find him and go to him and help him.

"Ori, _move_!" Nori screamed, his voice nearly drowned out by the furious battle cries of a dozen elves as they descended from the treetops and mountain peaks around them, their weapons flashing cruelly in the shadow like spears of lightning.

The Orcs screamed in response and ran to meet them in a mob of darkness, their sheer numbers quickly blocking out the elves until only weak flashes of light and righteous fury remained in the darkness.

" _Ori_!" Screams, someone was screaming his name again, someone needed him but Ilnir was dead, and he couldn't help him, he was useless again, and maybe Dwalin was right, he shouldn't have come-.

An Orc found them then, its savage features twisting into a cruel sneer of triumph when it caught sight of the dwarves struggling to descend from the branches of a tree. It lifted something: a dark, cruel bow that made a mockery of Ilnir's, its thick fingers pulling expertly at the string even as Ori watched in mute, helpless horror and Nori howled beneath him.

Suddenly there was movement, an abrupt, harsh jostle that would have sent Ori tumbling from his perch if it wasn't for the iron grip that Nori had around his arm. Ori scrambled instinctively for a handhold, his body slipping onto the branch in front of his brother just as a low, nearly inaudible twang rent the air and pain erupted like fire across his shoulders.

The scribe fell limply against the rough, moving wood of the branch beneath him, dimly aware of his brother's frantic shouts and the odd, deep throated grumbles of something that wasn't quite human or monstrous at all.

The eyes were human, though.

Deep, unfathomnable eyes stared up at him through the branches of the tree, and yet he got the strangest impression that they were a part of the tree as well.

_How odd… Trees with eyes… I'll have to tell Dwalin about this, he won't like it one bit._

Nori was still yelling, his words garbled and unintelligible over the deep humming and the distant, furious yells of Orcs and elves. Distant… odd that they should be so distant, when Ori could have sworn that they were close, too close. This was a battle, they were close to a battle. Battles were never this quiet.

"Please… help… you've got to help him…. He needs help, you must help him!" Nori screamed. Or, he could have been screaming that… then again, he could have been screaming other words. It was so hard to hear, and now the humming was growing dimmer as well, leaving a dark, empty nothingness in its wake.

_Dwalin… Dwalin, where are you? It's too quiet here, it's too dark…._

"Help… Hoomhuh, yes, help there should be, Master Dwarf, but for whom…."

_Such a strange voice, not really a voice, but it is, it's not human where is Dwalin, where is he, I need him._

"We've never harmed you, or your brethren- I have no ax, neither does my brother, he is a _scribe_!"

_Nori… Nori's upset… They're always upset… Dwalin's upset, Dwalin was mad and now I've gone and made things worse, haven't I?_

"Please…"

_Was Nori crying? No, he never cried, not since Vestri died and I'm not like Vestri, I'm not dying, I can't die, I don't want to…_

The silence thickened around Ori until all around him had faded. The scribe felt himself sigh and felt sleep gather around him, a deeper sleep than any he had yet to face. The dwarf almost welcomed it, his body weary and sore from years and weeks and days of worry and work and toil…

Something bright pierced the darkness, followed almost immediately by a loud, insistent, almost-familiar voice that surrounded Ori and pulled him in, pulled him away, pulled him back…

Darkness died and faded away, only to be replaced by a bright, white light that should have been painful but wasn't, really.

"Ori," a voice called, and it was familiar, somehow, a voice that the scribe had almost grown used to hearing long ago.

It was a voice that had been absent, a voice that brought back memories of cold ground and warm fires, of battles with goblins in the deep and encounters with eagles in the air. It was a voice- it was _his_ voice.

_You…_

Then exhaustion settled in and pulled him away, and Ori knew no more.


	14. from reminders of home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a coat, Kili is still trying to have a decent conversation, and unexpected faces are found in Lothlorien

Bilbo awoke to the sounds of gentle singing and the soft, warm glow of sunlight as it filtered through the trees. The hobbit smiled despite himself and slowly moved up into a sitting position, allowing the coatss that had been wrapped around him to fall around his hips in a puddle of cloth and… fur?

_Strange_ , he mused. _My cloak doesn't have fur- and since when did I have two coats?_

"Sleep well, Master Boggins?" Kíli half-whispered several feet away, his lithe form already up and moving across the large platform that had been given to the Guard upon their arrival at Lothlórien.

The journey across the Anduin into the forest of Lórien had not been the most unpleasant experience of Bilbo's life, although it did come close to surpassing his misery in the Misty Mountains. Their elven navigators had barely been able to push the filled boats away from the banks before the Nazgûl arrived, their shadowy flanks covered by a small mob of Orcs and goblins. The arrows of Kíli, Legolas and Aragorn had done little to stop the Orcs from firing their own arrows and spears, and a well-aimed shot from one of their foes had nearly sent Illiandur over the edge of his boat before the heirs of Durin had hauled him back in.

The small flotilla managed to leave the furious creatures of Mordor behind soon after that, and the first of the boats reached the edge of the forest before the sun had fully risen above the horizon. Despite a fair amount of panic over Illiandur's injury (it had been awhile since Bilbo had seen Kíli so frantic, although the dwarven prince's attention only seemed to aggravate the warrior of Gondor further) and one or two misunderstandings (really, that argument about whether or not the dwarves should be blindfolded on the way into Lothlórien had been completely unnecessary), the Guard had been well treated by the elves. It had been nice to finally be able to sleep without worrying about an Orc or Nazgûl coming after them in the night.

Although it was hard to get used to sleeping in trees.

"You seemed a bit cold last night," Kíli continued casually, his dark eyes glittering with mischief. "Uncle was worried."

"Oh yes," Fíli piped up and _how_ in Eru's name had the heir of Erebor gotten so close to Bilbo's shoulder? "He worried that your coat wasn't warm enough-."

"-So he figured that you could use another layer," Kíli finished lightly.

Bilbo blinked and glanced down at the mixture of cloth and fur that had been wrapped around him during the night, his face rapidly reddening when he realized that the mass of fur was, in fact, Thorin's coat. The dwarven brothers laughed quietly at his obvious embarrassment, their muscles tensing slightly when Dwalin grumbled and rolled over in his sleep three feet away. Kíli bit his lip to stop another chuckle and hurried towards the woven ladder that had been attached to edge of the platform, his footsteps slowing for a few moments to allow Fíli to catch up.

"Where are you two going?" Bilbo hissed, his eyes flickering warily across the huddled forms of sleeping dwarves and humans to make sure that he had woken anyone.

Legolas's tall, graceful figure was noticeably absent.

"Kíli's beloved has finally been released from the healers and he wants to go and meet him," Fíli quipped, earning himself a dark scowl from his younger brother.

Bilbo grinned despite himself and carefully scrambled to his feet, his hands moving to attach Sting to his belt as an afterthought.

"Really?" he drawled, his feet padding silently against the wooden boards of the platform as he made his way towards the brothers. "Did he finally agree to meet with you?" Illiandur had continued to try and avoid the youngest Durin's presence until the healers had finally forbid Kíli from going near the Man until he was finished healing.

Kíli cheeks flushed a light pink and he shifted uneasily, his expression almost guilty.

"I… No, not exactly," he admitted. "But he can't really help it if we happen to be in the same area at the same time…"

Bilbo laughed aloud and hastily covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders trembling.

"By the Valar," he whispered through fresh chuckles. "That's the most hobbit-like thing I've ever heard from you boys."

The brothers grinned and quickly started to descend from the platform. Bilbo hesitated and ran back to gently fold Thorin's coat before he followed after them, his cheeks still warm with the remnants of his blush. The hobbit followed the brothers across the gently-sloping grounds of the forest, his lips curving into a polite smile whenever an elf passed by them. He slowed for a moment as they passed a small, half-hidden stone pathway, his blue eyes locking on a flicker of white fabric that quickly disappeared behind a few large stones.

"Bilbo?" Fíli called over his shoulder, his brow furrowed in concern.

Bilbo shook himself and hurried after the brothers, his thoughts still lingering on whatever it was that he had seen. Kíli's pace increased the closer they got to the edge of the elven city, his hands tightening every so often around the polished handle of his bow. Fíli, on the otherhand, started to slow, his arm thrown out in a silent message to stop. Bilbo obeyed with reluctance, his mouth falling into a pout when Kíli quickly disappeared amongst the trees.

"How exactly are we supposed to see what happens if we can't even see _him_?" he hissed.

"It's all part of the plan," Fíli whispered back. "Kee thinks that Illiandur might be more talkative if no one is watching. He wants to go in alone and test out the theory."

Bilbo's pout deepened, which only seemed to amuse the dwarf further.

"Of course," the eldest prince of Erebor added casually. "Kee's only worried about getting rid of observers that Illiandur can _see_ … Unseen observers, on the other hand…"

"…Shouldn't be a problem," Bilbo finished under his breath, his pout shifting into a bright grin.

"What are you two doing?"

The hobbit and the dwarf froze and slowly turned to see an amused Bofur and a resigned Thorin.

"I- You- We- Thank you for the coat!" Bilbo blurted out before he could stop himself.

Thorin's cheeks seemed to redden slightly in the golden light of the forest and he nodded, his lips quirking up into a small smile.

"You're going to need a better coat one of these days, Halfling," he noted.

Bilbo jerked his head and tried to smile, silently cursing the way his stomach seemed to flip at the sound of the dwarf king's voice.

"We didn't wake either of you, did we?"

"Oh aye, ya did, but I wouldn' feel too bad about it," Bofur said cheerfully. "Although I would like ta know what all the gigglin' was about."

"We're stalking Kíli to make sure he doesn't mess things up with Illiandur again," Fíli reported cheerfully, his smile widening slightly in the face of Thorin's obvious irritation.

"Is this really necessary?" Thorin griped.

"Yes," Bilbo and Fíli replied.

Bofur laughed and reached up to straighten his hat.

"Well, I'm in," he announced cheerfully.

Thorin only sighed and glanced at Bilbo again. "…You're part of this, then?"

"Obviously," the hobbit replied.

The King of Erebor sighed and motioned for the other three to lead the way, his footsteps surprisingly quiet on the soft earth. Bilbo hesitated for a moment before falling behind to walk beside the king, ignoring the amused and knowing glances that Bofur and Fíli were sending his way.

"….Thank you again, by the way," he mumbled.

Thorin smiled slightly and shook his head. "It was just a coat, Bilbo."

"Not just for the coat," Bilbo said quietly. "Thank you… for everything."

A rough, calloused hand squeezed his own for a brief moment before pulling away, leaving Bilbo with an odd sense of loss.

"You're welcome."

*---*---*---*

Kíli forced himself to walk slowly through the trees, his eyes flickering across his surroundings for any sign of Illiandur's red-gold hair or cool grey eyes in the golden forest of Lothlórien. He frowned when he found no sign of the Man and quickened his pace, nearly bowling over the small being in front of him in the process. The smaller creature yelped in a surprisingly-high-pitched voice and dropped to its knees, its small hands pressed against the ground for balance.

"What the- _Bilbo_?" he squawked, his eyes locking on the familiar honey-brown locks that had fallen across the creature's features. "What are you doing here? Didn't Fee tell you to stay behind?"

The hobbit (and it was a hobbit, there was no mistaking those feet) flashed him a frosty glare that made the dwarf take a hasty step back, his eyes widening slightly when he took in the curves beneath the hobbit's rumpled trousers and shirt and the long waves of golden-brown hair that had come free from a tight bun at the base of the creature's neck.

"Wha- Bilbo, when did your hair get so long?"

"Kíli?" Bilbo's voice called from behind him. "Who on earth are you talking to?"

Kíli whirled around, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw the hobbit emerge from the trees beside Thorin, Bofur, and Fíli.

"Wait… This isn't you?" he said slowly. The prince blinked and turned around to look at the other hobbit, his mouth quirking up into a tentative smile in the face of the furious glares that were being sent his way. "Sorry Miss Not-Bilbo… Would you like some help?"

" _Really_ ," the hobbit huffed. "Of all the nerve- didn't your mother teach you any manners? And my name is not Bilbo, thank you very much! How dare you, implying that I look anything like that hooligan… My name is-."

" _Lobelia_?" Bilbo yelped from somewhere behind Kíli's shoulder. "Lobelia Sackeville-Baggins?"

"You know her?" Thorin muttered, only to be cut off abruptly when the hobbit lass scrambled to her feet and shoved past Kíli, her brown eyes narrowed into slits.

"Bilbo Baggins," she said silkily. " _There_ you are. We've been looking all over for you. And after we came all this way to come and find you- could've at least come over and said hello, you know."

"I didn't even know you were here!" Bilbo spluttered, his own eyes narrowing with the first hints of temper. "What _are_ you doing here, anyways? Aren't you supposed to be back in Hobbiton trying to steal my home?"

" _Don't_ you mention that blasted hole to me, cousin," she snapped in return. "I can't believe you- after everything we've been through- you couldn't even give me a chance!"

"Oh get off it," Bilbo snapped, his face reddening when he realized that the dwarves around them were following the conversation with wide, confused eyes.

Lobelia huffed and tossed some errant strands of hair over her shoulder, her eyes still glinting with fury.

"Blasted fool of a Took," she muttered.

"I t-take offence to that," another voice called dryly.

Kíli yelped again when two more hobbits materialized from the woods around them, his eyes widening in surprise mixed with a sudden glee when a confused Illiandur followed behind them. The Man of Gondor's eyes narrowed slightly when he caught sight of the gathering of dwarves and hobbits before him, his lips twitching into something that could either be a grin or a frown.

"How many hobbits are in this forest, exactly?" he grumbled.

"I'd actually like ta know the answer to tha' question," Bofur agreed, his own eyes gleaming mischievously beneath his hat.

Bilbo ignored them, his attention now focused entirely on the two hobbit lasses that had moved away from Illiandur to stand in front of him.

"What on earth- Addie?" he gasped.

One of the hobbits smiled shyly and bowed her head, her round features neatly framed by thick chestnut hair that immediately reminded Kíli of Nori. She was slightly bigger than the other hobbits, the youngest prince of Erebor noted suddenly, more muscular. Her nose was stronger and more pronounced that the small button noses of Bilbo, Lobelia, and the other hobbit lass, and her feet seemed smaller and less furry than any of her kin. Bilbo laughed suddenly and launched himself at the strange hobbit, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in a rough hug that was quickly returned.

"Adamant Took," Bilbo whispered into her hair. "I can't believe it…"

"Excuse me," the other hobbit lass called out playfully, her bright blue eyes dancing cheerfully beneath her dark brown hair. "Don't I get a hug, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo grinned widely and gently pulled away from Addie to approach the other girl, who promptly pulled him in for a fierce hug of her own.

"You blasted Baggins," she squealed against his shoulder. "Ohh, I can't decide if I want to smack you or kiss you right now, Bilbo!"

Bilbo flushed slightly but grinned, his eyebrows rising in slight surprise when Kíli and Fíli simultaneously choked on laughs. Kíli shook his head at the hobbit and cast another quick glance at his uncle, only to turn away once more at the sight of Thorin's obvious jealousy. The young dwarf caught Illiandur's eye for a moment, his smile widening when he saw the barely-restrained amusement in the man's eyes. Illiandur seemed to hesitate before his lips quirked up into the tiniest of smiles in return. 

The two hobbits separated after a few moments, although Kíli noted that Bilbo stayed within arm's reach of the two smiling hobbit lasses. Lobelia hovered behind them, apparently torn between irritation and reluctant amusement.

"I'm so sorry," Bilbo said hastily to the dwarves, his voice faltering slightly when he saw the sour expression on Thorin's face. "I've been so terribly rude- please allow me to introduce my cousin, Lobelia Sackeville-Baggins." Lobelia huffed and made to curtsy, only to pause at the realization that she was wearing trousers.

"My other cousin, Adamant Took," Bilbo continued. The hobbit in question bobbed her head with a timid smile, her round face reddening slightly under Fíli's curious gaze. "And my good friend, Primula Brandybuck-."

"Soon to be Primula _Baggins_ ," Primula corrected airily, her face creasing into a wide smile when Bilbo turned to stare at her in surprise.

"You received my letter then?" he gasped.

Primula nodded and, apparently unable to contain herself, bounced happily on the balls of her feet.

"It came about a month before we left the Shire," she explained gleefully. "Oh, Bilbo, you should have seen everyone's faces- the Thain had practically given you up as dead, you know, and even the Gamgees had started to worry and then that letter! I swear, Drogo must have run all the way to Bywater to tell me the news."

"Good lad," Bilbo huffed approvingly, his features flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. "I trust your family approves of the arrangement?"

Primula laughed outright at that. "They couldn't be happier! Imagine, a Brandybuck as the future mistress of Bag End!"

Kíli bit his lip and cast an uneasy glance in Thorin's direction, his heart sinking when he saw the darkness that had settled into his uncle's deep blue eyes. Fíli noticed as well and started to move closer to the king, only to stop when Thorin opened his mouth.

"I wasn't aware that you had been writing letters on our journey, Master Baggins," Thorin observed curtly.

Bilbo blinked and turned to look at Thorin, his expression slightly hurt.

"Well... I only wrote the one, you see," he explained slowly, his voice thick with confusion. "While we were in Laketown. I didn't know what would happen with Smaug, so I thought that it would be… best for me to settle my affairs, so to speak. I knew that my cousin Drogo was in need of a house so that he could propose to Prim here, so I figured that it would be good to name him as my heir so that he could have Bag End if anything happened…"

Thorin winced with obvious guilt and nodded slowly, his lips twitching with a sheepishness that nearly made Kíli laugh again.

"Ah… I see," he mumbled.

Bilbo nodded slowly, still confused, and turned back to the three hobbit women, his brow furrowing once again in concern.

"What are you three doing here?" he asked. "Of course, it's lovely to see you, and I have missed you all very much, but how-?"

"They said you needed help," Adamant explained quietly.

"Who did?" Bilbo pressed.

"The elves, of course," Primula stated, her eyebrows rising in slight surprise when the dwarves instinctively stiffened. "They came into Hobbiton with the Rangers to tell us that you were still alive but needed help on a matter that concerned all of Middle Earth. They asked us if anyone would be willing to come to Lothlórien to help you and to represent the interests of the hobbits. Naturally, Addie and I were the first to volunteer-"

"The first?" Bilbo repeated doubtfully.

"The only," Primula admitted reluctantly. "Although I'm sure that more of them would have volunteered if they had had more time to think about it- Lobelia barely made up her mind in time to join us, she practically had to run to Bree to catch us!"

"Don't exaggerate," Lobelia snapped. "I was perfectly on time, and I didn't _run_."

"A-are you sure about that?" Adamant muttered. She flinched slightly when Lobelia glared at her, causing Bilbo to step in front of her with a protective scowl.

"I am rather surprised that you decided to come all the way out here for my sake, Lobelia," he mused.

Lobelia's face reddened and she turned away with a huff, her small shoulders hunched defensively. Bilbo eyed her carefully for a few moments before he glanced back at the dwarves, his expression troubled.

"Why would the elves require hobbits?" he wondered aloud.

"Perhaps that is best explained at another time," a low, musical voice called through the trees.

Kíli turned with the others in time to see an elegant elven lady clad all in white walk towards them through the trees, her pale-blonde hair glimmering like starlight beneath the sun. She smiled softly at them and inclined her head in acknowledgement, her piercing blue eyes sweeping over them all carefully.

"The council is nearly ready to convene," she informed them. "I would be honored to escort you to its location."

Bilbo flashed a quick, encouraging glance in Thorin's direction, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Thorin sighed and bowed low in front of the elf, his actions mimicked immediately by his nephews and Bofur.

"The honor is ours, my lady," he murmured. "Please, lead the way."

The lady inclined her head once again and set off into the trees. Thorin waited until Bilbo had moved closer before he followed, his fingers twitching slightly whenever they came too close to the hobbit's. Kíli smirked and scrambled to keep up with Illiandur's long strides despite the half-exasperated glance that the man sent his way in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fíli bow to Adamant and offer his arm, while a cheerful Bofur did the same for Primula and Lobelia. Kíli felt his lips curl into a bright, feral grin when he saw the way his brother smiled at the timid hobbit lass and laughed under his breath.

_Oh, I will enjoy this…_


	15. to grim beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council of Lothlorien is held. Decisions are made, and hearts are broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, first I must apologize for not updating this sooner. My computer was malfunctioning slightly and this was the first opportunity that I had to get this chapter up. Anyways, hope you guys like this and please let me know if anyone is too OOC here (well, you know, aside from the OCs...) And I did decide to keep Haldir in this because I love him dearly, even if he is a creation of Peter Jackson's. Also, Arwen is in fact in Lothlorien because she was staying with Galadriel (her grandmother) during the events of the Hobbit.

"You all know why you are here," Galadriel stated, her gentle voice somehow filled with more force than any war cry that Thorin had ever heard. The elven lady looked around her at the Men, Elves and Dwarves that had been assembled in the cavernous hall, her gaze lingering with a peculiar tinge of fondness and regret on the three hobbits that had cautiously taken their places between the Princes of Erebor and the elves of Rivendell.

"A great evil has arisen in this world," she continued solemnly. "One that we all hoped would never come in our lifetimes. The Lord of Mordor has arisen, and with him rise the forces of darkness that nearly succeeded in the destruction of freedom many ages ago. Only one thing now stands in the way of the Dark Lord's rise to his full power, an object of might that was thought lost until very recently."

Thorin felt Bilbo stiffen beside him and glanced over to see the hobbit's fingers twitch in the direction of his pocket before flinching away. The dwarf king reached out and took the hobbit's hand without a second thought, his calloused fingers brushing gently against the newly-formed callouses and scars that now covered Bilbo's gentle fingers. Bilbo glanced up at him in shock, his light blue eyes wide and fearful beneath his honeyed curls. Thorin managed to squeeze the Halfling's hand before Galadriel spoke again, her solemn tones tinted with the barest shade of amusement, as if she had been observing their interaction.

"Master Baggins," she called out calmly. "If you would be so kind as to bring your burden forward…"

Thorin felt Bilbo shudder before the hobbit slowly rose to his feet, his fingers slipping easily from Thorin's grasp. The King of Erebor flexed his fingers against the sudden absence of the hobbit's warmth and watched as the Halfling slowly moved towards the roughly-hewn wooden pillar that had been placed in the center of the council. The dwarves on Thorin's left stiffened as well and watched the hobbit with a mixture of concern and wariness, while all around them the elves of Lothlórien and Rivendell, the Men of Gondor, Rohan, and the Dúnedain, and three hobbits of the Shire leaned forward with obvious curiosity. Galadriel merely settled back into her seat at the other side of Bilbo's chair, while to her right Lord Celeborn watched the proceedings with an unreadable expression.

Bilbo hesitated at the edge of the pillar, his hand curled into a loose fist in the air above the wood. The hobbit seemed to struggle for a long moment, his features darkening with a curious shadow that nearly made Thorin run to the former burglar's side despite the restraining hand that Dwalin had placed on his arm.

The hobbit shuddered and slowly loosened his grip, his eyes following the descent of the small golden ring as it fell.

It landed on the wood with a small thunk, yet Bilbo flinched as if he had heard the blast of war horns. The hobbit scrambled away from the pillar with forced grace and shakily lowered himself back into his seat, his tense muscles relaxing slightly when Thorin reached out to take his hand once more.

Silence fell across the throne room of Lothlórien for a long moment. Then:

"What… is the meaning of this?" Elrond asked slowly, his voice strained.

"That," Galadriel replied calmly. "Is the Ring of Power. Surely you do not need me to explain its origins to you, my lord Elrond?"

The lord of Rivendell's eyes darkened with an ageless anger and sadness. He shook his head, his eyes flickering towards Bilbo with an intensity that seemed to frighten the hobbit.

"How did such an object fall into the hands of this… this hobbit?" he demanded.

"Yes, I think that I would like to hear that tale as well," Thengel called from his place between Illiandur and Aragorn, his voice unusually serious.

Galadriel glanced in Bilbo's direction and raised her eyebrows. Bilbo swallowed and slowly got to his feet once more, his fingers still clasped securely in Thorin's own.

"I- That is, I'm not exactly sure how many of you know about the circumstances that led up to my discovery of this… this thing," he began haltingly, his eyes flickering towards Lady Galadriel in a silent question.

"I think it would be best for you to start from the beginning, Master Baggins," Aragorn said quietly, his solemn voice inexplicably gentle as he addressed the trembling hobbit. "I, for one, would also like to know how a hobbit of the Shire came to be in the company of the dwarves of Erebor."

"Agreed," a young elven woman who had taken a seat beside Elrond shortly after the Council was gathered added. She smiled at Bilbo when he turned to look at her, her blue eyes bright beneath waves of shining dark hair.

_She's like a star_ , Thorin thought before he could stop himself. The dark-haired elf was nothing like Galadriel, but she had a light all her own that covered her in a gentle glow like a candle flame.

Bilbo nodded and straightened slightly, seeming to take comfort from the woman's presence.

"Alright," he said. "Well, I suppose it all started when Gandalf came to me over a year ago and asked me if I wanted to share in an adventure…"

Thorin settled back in his seat and allowed his hand to slip away from Bilbo's, his eyes never leaving the hobbit's face as the former burglar explained their journey to his audience. Bilbo's voice rose and fell as he described the multiple struggles and perils that the company had faced throughout their travels, his voice changing to match the mood and, occasionally, to imitate a remembered speech or threat from foreign lips. The hobbit's voice only shook twice during his entire narrative- once when he described his banishment atop the walls of Erebor, and the other while he described the wicked voice of the Ring as it urged him to turn himself over to the Orcs of Moria and the Goblins of the Misty Mountains.

Silence fell once Bilbo's voice had ceased and the hobbit returned to his seat once more, his fingers twitching slightly as he settled into the soft cushion. Thorin allowed himself a brief moment to believe that the hobbit wanted to hold his hand again before he returned his attention to the other members of the Council, his eyes lingering with a brief flash of sympathy on the pale, worried faces of Bilbo's kin before moving to the weary features of Elrond and the wide-eyed expression of awe in Thengel's eyes. He paused at the sight of Illiandur, his eyes narrowing at the odd combination of fear and determination that had settled into the Man of Gondor's gaze. The King of Erebor glanced in the direction of his nephews to see if either of them had noticed. Fíli met his gaze and nodded slightly, his hand curled tightly around the arm of his brother.

"So… what happens now?" Gimli asked, his cheeks flushing a violent red as the rest of the Council turned to look at him.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Thengel broke in. Illiandur and Aragorn glanced towards him in shock. "We use the Ring the way it was intended to be used- as a weapon- Hear me out!" he added when Aragorn and Elrond moved to speak. "The forces of Mordor have been growing stronger with every day. Shadows are rising in the South and in the East. How long will it be before Sauron makes his move? And who will be his first target? Gondor!" The heir of Rohan paused and fixed the other members of the Council with a fiery glare, apparently oblivious to Illiandur's obvious discomfort.

"If things come to war, and they _will_ , Gondor will be the first to feel the Dark Lord's wrath. Who are any of you to deny us the aid that we sorely need?"

"Are you mad?" Aragorn snapped. "No man can control the Ring, Thengel. The Ring is Sauron's, and he alone can use it."

"But Gondor-."

"As the _representative_ of Gondor, I feel that I should have a say in its affairs," Illiandur growled.

Thengel stiffened and glared at the warrior. "Excuse me?"

"You are not a Man of Gondor, Thengel, son of Fengel, although you were born of one of its women," Illiandur replied stiffly. "I am the only true Man of Gondor who is present, and I have been told by Lord Ecthelion and… and his heir, Denethor, that I may speak in their stead."

"And what would Lord Ecthelion have you say?" Elrond asked, his eyes narrowed in distrust.

"My lord Ecthelion is obviously unaware of the Ring's presence," Illiandur said carefully. "However, he has told me to tell the Council that Gondor will stand against Mordor even if it stands alone. Our army is strong and can hold its own against any force."

"Your confidence is refreshing," Celeborn mused. "Although I fear that the ruler of Gondor does not fully understand what he will be up against. No army can stand alone against Sauron's forces."

Thorin felt Kíli's eyes on him and raised his head.

"They will not stand alone," he said firmly, his voice carrying easily through the throne room. He felt Dwalin stiffen by his side; however, when he turned to look at his closest friend, the warrior was nodding in silent support, his expression determined.

"And who will stand with them?" One of the elves from Rivendell demanded. "You?"

"If they will accept our help, then yes," Kíli replied immediately. "Dwarves are not afraid of shadows."

"And yet, if memory serves, your ancestors did not hesitate to hide in their caves when the darkness of Sauron spread across our lands," Celeborn pointed out quietly.

Thorin felt his temper rise and moved to get to his feet, only to be stopped by Bilbo's hand on his arm. The hobbit slowly shook his head, his lips moving to form a silent "No".

"Excuse me," a tiny voice called out, somehow managing to be heard over the rising shouts of elves and dwarves.

Adamant Took noticeably quailed under the united attention of the Council and began to sink back into her seat, only to be stopped by Primula Brandybuck. The two hobbit women glanced at each other before Adamant turned back to the Council, her bright blue eyes dark with steely determination.

"I believe that the original purpose of this council was to discuss what we were going to do with this Ring," she whispered. "Aside from the suggestion that we use the object as a weapon, I have not heard any other options."

"Why should that matter to you?" Thengel snapped.

Adamant frowned and drew herself up to her full height- which, Thorin had to admit, was not exactly intimidating.

"At the beginning of this Council, it was implied that we all had a voice in what the fate of Middle Earth would be," she said stiffly. "The hobbits of the Shire will never agree to war, not when there is another option on the table. Now," she continued, her voice dropping to a surprisingly-deadly whisper. "I will ask you once more, what are our other options?"

"There is only one other option," Elrond told her, his lips quirking up into something that, on any other being, would have been called a smile. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"How?" Fíli demanded.

"It must be cast back into the fires of Mount Doom, where it was first cast," the elven lord admitted.

"Mount- but that's in Mordor," Thengel hissed. "How is that idea any saner than my proposal?"

"Who will take the Ring to Mordor, then, if we agree on this?" Dori asked hesitantly, apparently unsure whether or not he was allowed to speak.

Thorin nodded towards him in silent approval.

"The elves, of course," an elf from Lothlórien who had identified himself as Haldir scoffed. "No other being could be trusted to carry such a burden."

" _Gondor_ should carry the burden, since it is apparently so able to take care of itself," Thengel snapped.

"Or perhaps the young prince of Rohan should take it," Illiandur shot back. "Since he is so interested in protecting his adopted home."

"The last Man to carry the ring was unable to resist the Dark Lord's power," Elrond pointed out coolly. "I do not think that it would be wise to test our luck on such a being once more."

"Who would you send, then?" Thengel snarled. "A dwarf, perhaps?"

"If yer implyin' something, lad, ye might as well say it out loud," Dwalin growled.

"I believe that the young lord of Rohan was only implying that your kind's… _sensitivity_ for gold might cause problems," Haldir pointed out silkily.

A low growl rose in Thorin's chest and he moved to stand, ignoring Bilbo's restraining hand on his arm.

"And I suppose that _elves_ can do any better?" he snarled.

"Enough," Aragorn interrupted. "This is neither the time, nor the place for us to give in to old hatreds-."

"Will you bear the Ring, then, Master _Ranger_?" Thengel snarled.

Aragorn noticeably paled but held his ground, his expression abruptly dangerous.

"Do not suggest such a thing to me," he hissed. "It is not in my power to bear the Ring to Mordor."

"Are you afraid, then?" the horselord sneered.

"Do not speak of things that you do not understand," the young woman who sat beside Elrond interrupted hotly, her cheeks reddening immediately when Elrond fixed her with a stern glance.

"Please, this isn't helping our cause-," Legolas's voice called from the other side of Celeborn.

"Oh, shall the elves of Mirkwood claim this burden now?" another elf of Lothlórien replied. "Your kin are almost as weak as the dwarves when it comes to riches."

"Shut yer mouth!" Gimli yelled at the same time that Haldir loudly ordered the other elf to stand down.

Bilbo shuddered beside Thorin, causing the dwarf to glance back down at him in concern. The hobbit's gaze was locked on the Ring, his forehead beaded with sweat beneath his honey curls. Thorin followed his gaze, his heart sinking as he processed the rising determination that he had seen in the Halfling's eyes.

_Don't do it… **Please** , Bilbo, do not, do not-_

"I will take it," Bilbo called, his voice trembling slightly as it rose above the chaotic noises of men, elves, and dwarves arguing over the fate of the world.

Everyone stopped and turned to stare at the small hobbit that stood between the Lady Galadriel and the King Under the Mountain. Bilbo shifted under their gazes, obviously uncomfortable, and cleared his throat.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor," he whispered. "I- I'm the one that found it and caused all of this… this trouble, and it's my job to get rid of it before anyone else gets hurt."

"You?" Thengel stated dumbly. "Alone?"

Bilbo's jaw clenched and he nodded stiffly. "If need be, yes."

"He will not go alone," Thorin said immediately, his heart aching at the naked relief and fear that flashed in the hobbit's eyes in response. "I will go with him."

"We all will," Fíli added. Kíli nodded fervently by his side, the gesture mirrored by all of the dwarves of Erebor.

"You have my bow as well, Master Baggins," Legolas added from his own position.

"And mine!" Primula declared loudly. "That is… if I had a bow, you would have it, although I do have a knife- it's more of a kitchen knife, really, but still-."

"We are all with you," Adamant interrupted wearily.

"…Yes," Lobelia murmured after a moment. "We've already completely ruined our reputations- what's one more strike against us?"

"If I may," Illiandur interrupted. "I would be honored to pledge my strength to the cause… Provided that my cousin will agree to come as well."

Aragorn frowned but nodded, his expression softening when he met Bilbo's shocked gaze.

"You have my sword, Master Baggins," he pledged quietly.

"And mine," Thengel huffed. "You must go through Rohan in order to reach Mordor and Gondor from here. My father is not a…trusting man. He will not allow such a company to pass through his lands unless I am with them."

Thorin frowned at that and glanced over at Bilbo, only to see that the hobbit had looked to Galadriel. The Lady of Lórien smiled at Bilbo and turned to Elrond, who had been watching the proceedings with a troubled look in his eyes.

"I wonder why there is not another addition to this fellowship," the lord of Rivendell said slowly. "Gandalf seems to have figured prominently in the hobbit's tale… Where is he now?"

Galadriel closed her eyes for a long moment and a shadow passed across her ivory face.

"Gandalf the Grey is gone from this world," she whispered. "He was betrayed by Saruman the White."

Bilbo reeled back as if he had been struck, only to be steadied by Thorin's waiting hands. The dwarf stared up at the elven lady in shock, his ears ringing with the surprised and distraught cries of those around him.

"How do you know this?" he demanded.

The lady turned her gaze to him and, for the first time, Thorin imagined that he saw true regret in her eyes.

"Several members of my guard were sent along with two others to investigate Gandalf's disappearance," she explained slowly. "Of these, only three survived to bring me word of what had occurred. They were ambushed in the Gap by Orcs."

Silence fell once again as each member of the Council digested Galadriel's words.

"You said that there were two others besides your men," Dori whispered suddenly, his voice strained. "Who were they?"

Galadriel turned her gaze to the snowy-haired dwarf and bowed her head.

"Nori and Ori, sons of Ri," she whispered.


	16. revealing darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn has doubts, Illiandur is confronted, and Bilbo looks into a mirror.  
> Far away, a dwarf wakes up.

"Aragorn…"

Aragorn stiffened and glanced over his shoulder, his tense muscles automatically relaxing when a familiar, cool hand brushed against the nape of his neck.

"Arwen," he whispered softly, his lips curving up into an automatic grin at the sight of her bright eyes and gentle smile. "What are you doing here?"

The elven woman shrugged. "I came to wish you well. Father said that the Fellowship would be leaving tomorrow."

"He's right," Aragorn murmured, his eyes flickering up towards the throne room of Lothlórien where the delegation of Rivendell were still engaged in conversation with their kin. "The Ringbearer has been delayed long enough as it is. We'll need all the time that we can get if Bilbo has any chance of getting that damned… _thing_ to Mordor."

She nodded and studied him carefully. He had always loved that about her- the way that she could simply look at him and see everything that had so often been overlooked by others. In the brief time that he had spent with her in the woods of Lórien, she had looked further into his soul than anyone he had ever known.

Right now, he almost wished that she couldn't see the thoughts that seemed to have invaded his mind ever since the Council's end.

"You will not give into it, you know," she said. "You are stronger than Isildur, Aragorn."

"What if I'm not?" he retorted. "Arwen-."

"You are a king, Aragorn," she insisted. "A ranger of the North and the true heir to Isildur. You are the Man that I love," she added in a quieter voice. "You are stronger than a mere trinket."

"It is not a mere trinket, though, is it?" Aragorn pointed out. "It is the Ring of Power- _Sauron's_ -."

"You are stronger than Sauron," Arwen interrupted stubbornly.

He stared at her, his lips opening and closing with silent, half-formed words. The elf woman chuckled and reached out to run one of her perfect fingers down the side of his rugged face. Aragorn leaned into her touch, his steel blue eyes still dark with confusion. Her smile softened.

"You are," she whispered.

"No, I'm not," he objected. "I'm not even a true king."

"Neither is Sauron."

Aragorn chuckled dryly. He leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, their breath mingling even as their foreheads met beneath the shade of Lórien's trees.

"Such a stubborn little star," he murmured.

"Such a modest little prince," she purred in return. " _You will succeed_."

" _Amin mella lle_ ," Aragorn replied tenderly. "I love you."

Something cool brushed against his hand and he pulled away, his fingers uncurling instinctively as Arwen pressed a gleaming pendant into his hand. The Ranger stared down at a brilliant, flowery knot of silver that glowed against his palm like a miniature star.

"I- Arwen, what are you-?"

"Keep this for me," she told him. "As a reminder of what will be waiting for you when you come back. Let it bring you hope, when all other hopes have been lost."

"You are my hope," he insisted, his breath ghosting across her face before his lips met hers in a brief, chaste kiss.

*---*---*---*

Illiandur leaned back against the wide trunk of a tree, silently reveling in the quiet that had surrounded him since the end of the council. Aragorn and Thengel had gone their separate ways immediately after Galadriel had dismissed them, and even Kíli had failed to linger with his bright smiles and cheerful chatter as the dwarves and Bilbo left to grieve and comfort several of their number. A small flicker of guilt and sympathy went through the Man of Gondor at the memory of the broken wail that Dori had released following Galadriel's announcement of his brothers' deaths. Kíli's brother had been one of the first to throw his arms around the devastated dwarf, while Kíli himself had hurried to Dwalin's side, his dark eyes wide with worry at the blank, empty look that had settled across the warrior dwarf's features.

It didn't feel right, seeing Kíli sad and afraid, although he couldn't quite figure out why the tears in the dwarf's eyes had bothered him so much.

_Still, at least the little devil will give me some peace now_ , he thought, only half-able to ignore the flash of additional guilt that trickled down his spine at the thought.

" _There_ you are."

Strong hands grabbed Illiandur by the shoulders and hauled him off of the ground, slamming him mercilessly into the smooth bark of the tree that had once been at his back. Illiandur grunted and glared up at his attacker, his steel-blue eyes widening in slight surprise beneath his red-gold hair.

Thengel smiled back silkily, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously between loose strands of golden hair.

"I've been looking for you since the Council, you know," he drawled. "You're surprisingly hard to find, Master Shortarm. Although, given what young Kíli said about dwarves and their ability to sneak, perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised…"

"What do you want?" he huffed, his feet scrabbling uselessly for a foothold. Thengel responded by lifting him farther away from the ground, his lips pursing with the effort.

"Why did you lie about Ecthelion during the Council?" the heir of Rohan growled.

"I didn't-," Illiandur spluttered.

" _Do not_ lie to me," Thengel snapped. "You may have Aragorn and those elves fooled, and Eru knows those dwarves are too absorbed by their own problems and their precious hobbit to give you much thought, but _I_ cannot be so easily fooled. You know as well as I do that Ecthelion has been bedridden since before the first attack on Osgiliath. He can barely speak to anyone, let alone offer council on matters as important as these. Denethor sent you with us, and he alone could have given you words for the council." The young horselord's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer, his teeth bared in a savage growl. "You and I both know that what Denethor fears most is Gondor left alone and helpless against the might of Mordor. He would have supported my request to have the Ring used as a weapon, he would have wanted to use it-."

"He does," Illiandur interrupted, his voice strained.

Thengel stopped short and stared at him, his furious expression cracking to reveal something much younger and more vulnerable. He slowly lowered Illiandur to the ground and stepped away, his expression confused.

"He… he knows?" he repeated.

"He knows," Illiandur sighed wearily. "About the Ring, about Bilbo, by the Valar, he probably knows about Kíli by now. He knows everything."

"How?"

"I don't know, I don't- I can't understand it but he _does_ ," the Man of Gondor insisted. "It started before Ecthelion fell ill. Denethor began to disappear into the archives and the vaults, seeking something that would help us to figure out what the Dark Lord was planning, what we were up against. He… He warned the guard about the first attack. That was how we were able to prepare and repel Sauron's forces with relatively-few casualties."

"And the Ring?" Thengel prompted.

Illiandur sighed. "He knows that I have been seeking a chance to prove myself for most of my life. He trusted that my love for honor and my loyalty to the White City would ensure my obedience. He called me to him shortly after Aragorn and the messengers arrived with news of the Council. He told me what he had seen in the vaults, said that the Ring was our only chance of defeating Mordor if the Council refused us aid. He told me to get the Ring and bring it to him in Minas Tirith, no matter the cost."

"And yet you argued against me when I told the Council to allow us to use the Ring as a weapon," Thengel murmured. "Why?"

"It wouldn't have worked," Illiandur insisted. "The elves would have voted against such an arrangement, as would Aragorn and the dwarves. The outcome would have been the same, even with my support. I needed to know that I would be allowed to travel with the Ringbearer and gain his trust. With luck, I will be able to convince the Fellowship to stop in Minas Tirith before they go on to Mordor. Aragorn needs to go there at any rate…" The warrior trailed off, his features paling slightly at the obvious curiosity in Thengel's eyes.

"Will you help me?" he added after a moment.

The horselord nodded slowly, his lips curling up into a humorless smile.

"It seems that I underestimated you, Illiandur Shortarm," he mused. "You are far more of a man than a dwarf could ever be."

Illiandur winced and nodded stiffly, his own lips twitching half-heartedly in return. Thengel bowed his head and began to lope back towards the tree where they had made their camp.

"Well, I must be off," he called airily. "Things to prepare, people to see… it's going to be a long day tomorrow, my friend."

Illiandur watched him walk away in silence, only daring to allow his knees to buckle once the horselord had disappeared from sight. The Man of Gondor slid slowly to the ground and covered his face with shaking hands, his mind flooded with memories of Denethor's grim features.

_"The Ring is all that we have left… If Rohan will not stand with us, how can we count on anyone else? Gondor alone will not hold back the might of Mordor, no matter how fiercely we fight. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to save my people, Illiandur. Are you?"_

Something rustled in the branches.

Illiandur raised his head in time to catch a glimpse of dark hair before it disappeared amongst the golden leaves, his heart sinking when he recognized Kíli's solemn, tear-stained face before it vanished.

_"Will you fail me, Illiandur? Or will you throw off your father's shame?"_

_"Will you become a true Man of Gondor?"_

"Oh gods…"

*---*---*---*

_Bilbo…_

Bilbo jerked up as the strange voice invaded his mind, his fingers jumping towards his coat pocket. Yet it was not the Ring's venomous tones that flooded his thoughts and silently urged him onward. This voice was softer, kinder, but filled with an old wisdom that made him wonder if it was really so different from the Ring, in the end.

He glanced up from his place beside a silent Bofur and stared across the huddled forms of his friends towards the edge of their platform. A flash of white beckoned him onward, along with the fleeting mental image of a gentle smile and solemn blue eyes. The hobbit scrambled to his feet and followed the white fabric, his heart sinking slightly when Bofur didn't even seem to notice his departure.

_I wish I had known about him_ , he thought suddenly. _I wish that Nori had known…_

Thorin shot him a concerned look as he walked past, his eyes dark from the grief of his people and his closest friend. Dwalin had not spoken a word since the announcement of Ori's death, had hardly even blinked when Dori's grief had given way to an irrational anger towards the warrior that had taken his youngest brother's heart and inspired him to be brave. The mark on Dwalin's cheek where Dori had hit him had been tended to by his king, while Fíli and Gimli had gently drawn Dori away and sat with him until he had fallen back into grief once again.

Bilbo gave Thorin a weary nod and slipped carefully down the ladder towards the ground, his eyes landing on the small stone wall that he had glimpsed earlier. A woman in white waited for him beside the wall for a few moments before she disappeared once more. Bilbo huffed and hurried away from the ladder across the soft earth of Lothlórien, his eyes widening slightly when he caught sight of a set of weathered stairs half-hidden behind the stone wall.

The hobbit scrambled down the steps, his feet slowly to an abrupt halt when he saw Galadriel waiting for him in a deep green hollow at the foot of the steps. A silver stream flowed out of the rocks behind her into a small pool. A low pedestal carved like a branching tree stood beside the pool, its branches topped with a basin of silver. Galadriel held a matching pitcher of silver in her hand. As he watched, she crossed to the pool and filled with pitcher to the brim with water before filling the basin, her eyes fixed intently on Bilbo.

"Here is the Mirror of Galadriel," she said. "I have brought you here so that you may look in it, if you will."

Bilbo frowned and slowly drew towards the basin despite himself.

"…What will I see, may I ask?"

"I do not truly know," the lady admitted. "I can command the Mirror to reveal many things, yet often it will show things that come unbidden. Images of the past and the present, futures that may yet be and futures that could have been. I cannot tell you what the Mirror will show you, Bilbo Baggins. Lately, I am afraid, I cannot even tell what it will show me."

"Why not?" Bilbo asked before he could stop himself. "I mean, it is your Mirror. Shouldn't you be able to tell what it will show you?"

Galadriel slowly shook her head, her lips curling into a wry, wistful smile.

"There was a time, Master Baggins, when I thought that I had an idea of what would come to pass. I saw a future that I did not like, but a future filled with hope nonetheless. Now it has changed… and I hardly know if it is for the better."

"Why has it changed?" Bilbo demanded. "What was it supposed to be- what was so different?"

Galadriel studied him for a long moment.

"You were not meant to bear the Ring to Mordor, Bilbo Baggins," she told him. "That role was meant to be played far into the future, by a boy that you would call a son."

"A son?" Bilbo spluttered. "Did I- Did I marry?"

"No," she replied. "You are not meant to take a wife, Bilbo. The only love that you have ever born was fated to die alongside the last of his line, and you were to return to the Shire, where more death and fate gave you a child that you would take into your home and call your own. The Ring would have passed to him, and he would have born it into the depths of Mordor alongside his own Company, much smaller than yours and different in many ways, and yet similar."

"By the gods," Bilbo whimpered, feeling vaguely sick. "Thorin…? But his future has changed, hasn't it? All of our- it _has_ changed, hasn't it?"

Galadriel merely stared at him, and for a brief moment there was amusement in her blue eyes as well as sadness. "Look into the Mirror, Bilbo Baggins, if you will."

Bilbo gritted his teeth and drew closer, his eyes boring into the water's smooth surface. Visions flashed across the surface, images of young hobbits with curly hair and bright eyes dimmed by hardship, of battlefields soaked with blood and women of many races keening over the corpses of the fallen. He saw himself crumpled by Thorin's bedside, his face red and stained with a thousand tears. He saw an army riding across the plains and a man in white travelling alone. He saw Lobelia, her skin browned and covered in cuts and burns, her mouth open in a silent plea. Fire and smog blocked his view and suddenly there was an eye, red and terrible in its glory. The Ring in his pocket seemed to burn through his clothes and scorch his skin, its voice screaming and begging to be with the Eye…

Bilbo drew back with a low scream and stumbled back into the wall, his shoulders heaving with barely-restrained gasps and sobs. Galadriel watched him, her eyes dark with the same terrible knowledge.

"I know what it is that you saw," she whispered. "For it is also in my mind. Do not be afraid, Bilbo Baggins. There are more forces at work against the Dark Lord than you know."

"Do you… Do you know if everything will work out?" Bilbo asked in a small voice. "If we will succeed? Would it have been better, do you think, for this quest to have waited until… until another Fellowship could have taken it up?"

"Would you leave such a burden to be taken up by innocents?" Galadriel countered. When Bilbo did not reply, she continued "There are many things in your favor that those who came after you would not have possessed. Your Fellowship is larger, and it is stronger in more ways than one. There are many bonds of love that would not have been present in a later Fellowship, bonds that have already begun to form and that have not yet reached their full level of strength. Do not mistake me, Bilbo Baggins, for you will face many hardships. You all will."

Bilbo thought of the young hobbit boys that he had seen in the Mirror, of the darkness and the sorrow that had clouded their eyes and he looked away, his chest still burning from the Ring's touch.

"Can't you take the Ring, then?" he asked. "You… You are more powerful than I am, more able to wield it. Will you not take it?"

Galadriel recoiled from him with wide eyes and stared down at the pocket in which Bilbo had hidden the Ring. A dark shadow passed across her features and suddenly she was as terrible as the Eye had been, and yet more beautiful.

"You would give it to me freely," she whispered. "Just as he would have… In the place of a Dark Lord, you would have a Queen, dark but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sun and the Sea and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!"

She shuddered and fell back, her form shrunken, old and weary, dimmed like a star in the wake of the dawn.

"I pass the test," she gasped. "I shall not possess the Ring, but shall remain Galadriel… and diminish."

*---*---*---*

Ori regained consciousness slowly.

At first, he was certain that it was only another dream. Beings like trees slipped in and out of his vision and occupied his dreams, accompanied occasionally by Nori's vibrant hair and worried eyes. Shadows fell and gathered at the corners of his eyes, threatening to pull him back into the abyss.

"Now, now, none of that, ey?" A voice huffed. "Sebastian, please, would you give him some air?"

Ori blinked slowly, his brow furrowing when a streak of dried bird shit came into focus, followed slowly by a pair of earnest brown eyes framed by tangled grey hair.

Radagast smiled distractedly at Ori and lightly patted the top of his head.

"Good lad, good lad," he muttered. "Glad to see you up… was a bit worried there, for a moment. Have only tried that spell a few times before, mostly on hedgehogs, and I'm afraid you aren't very much like a hedgehog. More like a rabbit, really, not that that's a bad thing. I rather like rabbits. Fast little creatures, they are, and brave, too, although people don't usually see it that way."

Ori only blinked again, not quite able to speak. Suddenly, Nori was there, roughly shoving Radagast away with a small measure of restraint in his hurry to see his brother.

"Ori," he sighed. "You're ali- you're awake. Thank Mahal."

"Nori," Ori croaked. "Where-?"

"You are in the forest of Fangorn, hohrum," a deep voice called from somewhere above him, nearly sending Ori back into unconsciousness from the shock. "In the land of the Ents. Queer little dwarves you are, not sure we like you, but the wizard says we can trust you, and you have no ax, hroomhuh. Suppose we must learn to trust you, then."

Ori stared up at the treelike figure that had bent over him, his thoughts flying back to one of his last memories before everything had gone dark.

_They are like human eyes…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, two quick notes here: 1) for the sake of the story, we are once again going to pretend that Aragorn and Arwen have already fallen in love even if it is 60 years before LotR; 2) I did take some of Galadriel's lines directly from the book, so all credit there belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and no one else because there is no way I am good enough to write things that could even compare to what he wrote.  
> Hope you all have a nice weekend!


	17. attempts and failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fellowship departs from Lothlorien

The company gathered on the banks of the Anduin before dawn, their faces pale and drawn with varying degrees of exhaustion and anxiety. Lobelia huffed, restrained herself from rubbing at her tired eyes and carefully brushed her hands against the pockets of her trousers. She sighed in quiet relief when her fingers came into contact with the many handkerchiefs that she had managed to tuck within the folds of her jacket, her nose wrinkling in instinctive disgust at the inappropriate clothing that she had been forced into. Imagine, a respectable Hobbit woman, wearing trousers like a man! As if going on an adventure hadn't been bad enough. At least the elves had allowed her to dress appropriately.

"C'mon, 'Belia, help us load up the bags," Primula called sleepily.

The young Brandybuck had had no qualms about donning the sturdy brown trousers that Bilbo had brought them earlier, which shouldn't have surprised Lobelia at all. Both Primula and Adamant had been frightfully excited about the whole thing, even going so far as to discuss whether or not the elves would give them swords like Bilbo's to defend themselves. The very idea! What Otho would have said if her were-.

Lobelia froze and hastily shoved the thought away, her stomach churning with familiar pain and guilt at the thought of her new husband. What _would_ Otho say about all of this? If he ever spoke to her again, of course…

"'Belia?" Primula called again, her voice tinged with concern.

Adamant and Bilbo had joined her now, their own faces creased with something that almost verged on genuine worry as they studied her. Lobelia snarled and stomped up to the boat that they had chosen as their own, her knuckles white around the straps of her pack. She threw the bundle into the arms of the golden-haired dwarf that was waiting in the boat, her anger faltering slightly when the lad stumbled back from the momentum and nearly sent the dwarf behind him into the water. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at her, unimpressed, and quickly moved to help the two dwarves, leaving her alone on the shore with her companions.

Adamant seemed to hesitate for a moment before she reached out and gave Lobelia's hand a gentle squeeze, her wide lips curving up into a timid smile.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know," she whispered. "None of us would blame you for wanting to go back home."

Lobelia felt her lip curl in silent disdain and forcefully bit her tongue against the sharp reply that she longed to make. She settled for a huff and a curt nod instead, her blood boiling when the Took girl flashed her a pitying look. How _dare_ she pity her?

"So," she said airily, her voice surprisingly steady as the three hobbit women moved away from the boats to join the rest of the Fellowship. "When are you going to tell them?"

Adamant visibly stiffened and shot her a wary look, apparently oblivious to the curious looks that Primula and two of the closer dwarves were sending her way.

"Tell who?" Adamant muttered.

"Why, the dwarves, of course," Lobelia replied, her voice just loud enough to carry to where the remainder of the group had gathered on the smooth riverbanks.

She heard Bilbo suck in a sharp breath behind her and turned to see him approaching alongside the two dwarves from the boats. Bilbo's eyes flashed with protective fury in the dim light of the rising sun, only to dim into vague alarm when they swept across the confused, suspicious faces of the dwarves and the bemused looks of the Elves and Men.

"Is there something that you should be telling us, Mistress Baggins?" The ruler of the dwarves (Thorin, his name was Thorin, wasn't it?) asked carefully, his blue eyes sharp beneath a thick mane of raven hair streaked with silver.

" _Sackville_ -Baggins, your majesty," Lobelia corrected primly. "And it's not my place to tell you anything, I'm afraid."

"Whose is it, then?" The large, bald dwarf by Thorin's side demanded in a rough voice.

Lobelia caught the shocked, relieved glances that Bilbo and three of the other dwarves sent in the speaker's direction and felt a brief flare of pride that, perhaps, she had done something right.

"If ye have anythin' important to say, ye might as well say it now," the bald dwarf continued bitterly. "There may not be time for it later."

"Dwalin-," Thorin began only to stop when Adamant stepped forward.

Lobelia heard Bilbo gasp and watched him hurry to the Took's side, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper that was barely audible to her own ears.

"…don't have to do this, not if you're not ready."

Adamant shrugged him off and offered a brief, strained smile to Primula, who had drawn closer to the cousins with a look of obvious worry. She took a deep breath and stepped past Lobelia, her blue eyes glaring briefly into the other woman's before she turned to face the rest of the Fellowship.

"I… I did not come on this journey solely for the purpose of finding Bilbo," she admitted quietly. "I came to- to seek my family."

"Your family?" the golden-haired dwarf that had stumbled under Lobelia's pack called out from behind Bilbo, his confusion mirrored by the dark-haired dwarf at his side. "Wouldn't they all be back in the Shire?"

Adamant looked back at him and shook her head, her lips quirking up into another weak, half-hearted smile.

"No, I'm afraid that my father and his family are the only ones who reside in the Shire," she explained quietly. "My mother and- and her family were not hobbits. They were dwarves."

There was silence for a long moment. Then:

"Wait, what?"

" _What_?"

"How is that- really? Tha' can happen?"

"Ye've got ta be jokin'…"

" _That's_ why her feet are so small, I was wondering-."

" _Kíli_!"

"What? It's not a bad thing- she sort of looks like a dwarf, too, now that I-."

"Enough!" Thorin snapped, his voice carrying easily across the shouts and exclamations of his kin.

The dwarf king waited until all of the others had settled down before he focused on Adamant, his blue eyes softening slightly at the obvious unease in her eyes.

"While I have never met a dwarrawdam who claimed to have mated with a hobbit of the Shire," he began slowly. "I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to find her once our journey has ended, if that is what you wish."

"Thank you for your offer, your Majesty, but I'm afraid that that won't be possible," Adamant replied quietly. "My mother is dead. She died shortly after giving birth to me, right outside of the village of Bree."

A low moan came from the mouth of a dwarf with carefully-braided white hair. The dwarf (Dori? Lord, how did Bilbo remember all of their names, anyways?) strode forward with tentative steps, oblivious to the supporting hand that a younger dwarf with vibrant red hair was offering him.

"Your mother's family," Dori gasped. "Do you remember… do you know any of their names? Do you know your mother's name?"

"I do not know the names of any of her relations, but I do know hers," Adamant admitted, her eyes locked on the white-haired dwarf with dawning hope. "Her name was Vestri, daughter of Ri."

Dori choked and pressed a hand to his mouth, his eyes suddenly wet with unshed tears. Adamant paled and moved towards him, only to stop dead when the dwarf turned abruptly and walked back to the boats, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Dwalin and a dwarf with a rather odd hat quickly followed him, their own eyes flickering away from Adamant's shocked face with obvious pain.

Adamant swallowed and nodded. She blinked rapidly for a few moments before taking a deep, steadying breath, her shoulders already shrugging off Bilbo's comforting hand.

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "I- Where's Prim's pack? Has it been loaded as well?"

"It has, Addy, I swear," Primula whispered comfortingly. "It's all been taken care of."

"I just want to check…"

"We'll take you to check on them," the golden-haired dwarf offered immediately.

"Oh- yes! Yes, of course," his companion added. "Don't you worry, Mistress Took, we'll make sure you've got everything that you need."

"In a moment," a calm voice called. The Fellowship turned to see Galadriel and Celeborn gliding down the river in their own intricate barge, their immaculate clothing bright as starlight against the first weak rays of dawn.

"If you please," Galadriel continued. "I would like to give a few gifts to the members of your company before you set off."

Thorin bowed his head and shot Bilbo a quick, questioning look. The male hobbit nodded slightly and waited until Primula had wrapped a steadying arm around Adamant's shoulders before he moved to Thorin's side, his eyes narrowing in unmistakable fury when he passed Lobelia. She flinched beneath his gaze and glared back, her lips pursed tightly to keep them from trembling.

For one brief moment, she fancied that he could see the remorse that had been building up inside of her from the moment that Adamant had first stepped past her to face the dwarves.

_I'm sorry_ , she wanted to scream. _I didn't mean- It's not my fault, I didn't know that this would happen!_

_I'm sorry…_

Then Bilbo was gone, his features already smoothing into a polite, grateful smile as he approached the Lady of Lórien. Galadriel smiled serenely at him and motioned for several elves to step forward, their arms laden with objects. Lobelia watched silently as the man from Rohan, Thengel, was given an intricately-woven belt of shining silver. Illiandur, Legolas, and the dark-haired dwarf (had she addressed him as Kíli?) all accepted carved bows of golden wood and quivers full to the brim with elven arrows, although the hobbit noticed that Thorin appeared slightly chagrined by the gift to his kinsman. Aragorn, the Ranger, smiled softly when a young elven woman with silky brown hair pressed a sheath into his waiting hands. Dwalin and the two other dwarves (Dori? Bofur?) that had walked off earlier were called back by their king and given belts similar to the one that Thengel now wore. Lobelia felt a sharp pang of guilt go through her at the sight of the three dwarves' strained expressions and red-rimmed eyes and quickly glared down at the ground, only to look up again when Thorin, Kíli, and the golden-haired dwarf (who was apparently called Fíli) were called to Galadriel's side.

The elven woman smiled down at the younger dwarves with obvious humor and bent to press two small objects into their hands, her lips moving to form words that were too quiet for Lobelia ears to catch. The dwarves flushed identical shades of brilliant scarlet and stared up at Galadriel, apparently oblivious to the exasperated and amused stares that Bilbo and Thorin were now sending their way. Thorin's features hardened when the elven woman turned to him, only to crumble in obvious shock when the Lady of Lórien pressed something into his hand as well and bent closer to whisper in his ear. Bilbo watched the proceedings, his eyes meeting Lobelia's in a moment of shared confusion before he seemed to remember that he was furious with her and turned away.

Galadriel straightened and winked at Bilbo, earning herself a shocked stare from him. The woman nodded to the hobbit and moved past him towards Lobelia and her two companions, her arms suddenly full of several wrapped parcels. Lobelia blinked as one of the parcels was given to her, her eyes widening further when she realized that the parcel's wrappings were in fact the silvery folds of an elven cloak clasped with a leaf-shaped brooch of deep green. Beside her, Primula had already torn the cloak's folds away with surprising tenderness and was now staring at the gleaming short-sword beneath it in awe. Adamant continued to stare at her own gift in confusion, her fingers playing with the three cloaks that had been folded beneath her own sword.

"W-Why three?" she whispered, her voice cracking just as it always had in the Shire. Lobelia flinched at the sound of the girl's timid voice, silently cursing herself for shoving Adamant back into the quiet, fearful shell that she had supposedly left behind.

Galadriel smiled warmly.

"You will need them," she said simply.

*---*---*---*

There were times when Fíli gave up on trying to understand people.

The heir of Erebor shot a quick glance over his shoulder towards the boat that now held Gimli, Legolas, Kíli, and Primula, his eyes locking for a brief moment on the strand of bright gold hair that was now cradled carefully between Gimli's calloused fingers. Honestly, he had half-expected his uncle to fall over in shock when the youngest dwarf in their company had stepped forward and asked the Lady Galadriel for a lock of her hair. Fíli and his brother had simply stared at him along with the rest of the dwarves, while several of the elves had moved into a collective knot around Galadriel. She had banished them with a simple wave of her hand, her eyebrows raised in mild curiosity and bemusement as she studied Gimli.

"And what would you do with such a gift, son of Gloin?" she had asked slowly.

Fíli remembered elbowing Kíli in the stomach sometime during Gimli's stuttered explanation of his desire to preserve the elf woman's hair in crystal as a reminder of the beauty of the world, his own lips twitching with barely-concealed laughter.

Then Galadriel had cut her hair and offered it to the awestruck dwarf, her eyes flickering towards a dumbfounded Thorin with obvious amusement.

The boat jostled roughly, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. Fíli grunted and instinctively braced himself against the side of the boat, his hands shooting out to steady Adamant before she could tumble over the side. The half-hobbit girl nodded to him weakly, her complexion tinged with green. Fíli smiled slightly, his grin faltering when her eyes moved towards the other occupants of their boat. Dori's head was bent over the oar, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the two boats that were ahead of them. Illiandur was almost the same, although Fíli noted that his own eyes frequently strayed back towards Legolas' boat.

That was another matter that continued to confuse Fíli. During the mild chaotic rush for the elven boats, he had waited for his brother to scramble into the boat after Illiandur, only to watch in shock as the younger prince of Erebor calmly joined Gimli, Legolas, and Primula without a single glance in Illiandur's direction.

_Perhaps he's given up on the Man_ , a small part of Fíli's mind suggested now, his eyes flickering between Illiandur and Kíli.

Except, he had never known Kíli to give up… on anything. And given the nature of Galadriel's gift earlier-.

Fíli blushed at the thought and carefully switched his attention to the half-blurred forms of trees and rocks that moved past them, his hand moving involuntarily towards the small block of pale pink quartz that had been tucked beneath his tunic. His ears burned with the memory of Galadriel's whisper and he shot another glance towards Kíli before turning ahead to look at his uncle.

Thorin seemed unaware of his oldest nephew's gaze. The dwarven king's head was bent in quiet conversation with Bilbo, his lips occasionally quirking into a small smile that was clearly visible to Fíli.

_The elf definitely knew what she was doing with Uncle_ , he admitted silently. _And maybe she knows with Kíli… but why in Mahal's name did she give me a stone, too?_

Adamant sniffed quietly.

Fíli turned to her immediately, his heart clenching when he saw the silent tears that had started to trickle across her cheeks. Without another thought, the dwarven prince wrapped his arm around her shoulders and quietly offered her a handkerchief, his features brightening with a cautious smile when she stared up at him in shock.

"You can thank Bilbo for the handkerchief," he whispered conspiratorially. "He insisted that we all carry handkerchiefs on us after Bofur tried to offer him a piece of his tunic for his runny nose."

She laughed, a choked, cautious sound that suddenly made the world seem brighter.

*---*---*---*

"We'll stop here for the night," Thorin called back to the other boats when the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Kíli heard Gimli call something back in agreement and braced himself against the side of the boat as Legolas began to maneuver them towards the shore. Primula glanced over at him, her blue eyes dancing mischievously.

"What's wrong, Master Dwarf?" she chirped. "Feeling seasick?"

"You don't know the half of it," Kíli shot back, his lips twitching into a small smile at the sight of the hobbit's obvious enthusiasm. "What about you? I thought hobbits hated the water."

"Well, most hobbits do, yes, but I'm a Brandybuck," the lass stated proudly. "There's not a hobbit alive that can best a Brandybuck in the water."

Kíli chuckled and clambered out of the boat the minute they reached the shore, his arm rising automatically to help the hobbit out as well. Primula giggled and gave him a surprisingly graceful curtsy, only to slip on a damp stone and smack straight into Gimli, which in turn sent the dwarf sprawling onto the sandy shore at Legolas' feet. Kíli roared with laughter, his smile widening when he heard Fíli, Bofur, Bilbo, and Adamant echoing him. Even Aragorn and Legolas seemed to chuckle, and it seemed for one brief moment that Dwalin and Dori had smiled.

Illiandur smiled.

Kíli's laughter died as soon as it had appeared, his shoulders slumping beneath the heavy weight that seemed to have fallen upon them since the night before. He turned away before anyone could notice and nearly dove back into the boat to retrieve some of their packs, his fingers brushing clumsily across weather-beaten leather and polished weapons.

"…We'll need to set up a watch," Aragorn said from somewhere nearby.

"I'll do it!" Kíli yelled, his voice slightly muffled by the boat. The youngest prince hastily pulled two of the packs out of the boat and whirled around to flash the others a strained grin, his muscles tensing when he saw the unmistakable worry in Fíli's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Thorin asked.

Kíli nodded fervently and waited until the others had turned their attention to setting up camp before he allowed his smile to fade once more. He nearly ran to the edge of camp, his new bow an odd, comforting presence across his shoulders. The dwarf cast a critical gaze across the ground before settling into a semi-comfortable position on top of a particularly-large boulder, his eyes flickering across the lengthening shadows of half-dead trees with a furious intensity. Primula came up to him before the light had completely faded from the sky, her small hands wrapped around an offering of cold dinner. Her features were apologetic as she explained that Aragorn and Thorin had been unwilling to light a fire out of fear of the Orcs that were apparently patrolling the area. Kíli simply accepted the food with a smile, silently deciding to not tell the hobbit girl that he had had worse than a cold dinner on many occasions. She retreated back to the camp soon after, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the shadows once more.

"…Would you mind some company?"

Kíli stiffened and forced his eyes to remain straight ahead. He heard a low sigh and listened to the low crunch of leaves and twigs beneath Illiandur's feet as the Man slowly settled into a crouch next to his boulder.

"Your uncle and Aragorn thought that it would be a good idea to have two people on watch instead of one," Illiandur explained gruffly.

Kíli nodded. His companion sighed again.

"K- Master Dwar-"

"Kíli," he interrupted despite himself. "Just Kíli is fine."

Illiandur nodded with a hesitant smile that made Kíli's heart stutter in his chest.

"Kíli, then," he murmured. "You heard my conversation with Thengel last night."

"Yes." What was the use of denying it?

The Man grunted and ran a hand through his red-gold hair. "Right. Kíli-."

"If you hurt Bilbo, I swear by Mahal I'll have your head," Kíli growled, trying to ignore the way his entire being seemed to ache at the thought.

Illiandur reeled back in surprise and stared up at the dwarf.

"I- No, Kíli, I don't want to hurt Bilbo."

"You're going to force him to take the Ring to Minas Tirith," Kíli reminded him. "I know Bilbo- he's not going to give up the Ring so that someone else can use it as a weapon. You'd have to force him to give it up."

The Man of Gondor was silent. Kíli turned, his dark eyes locking onto the warrior's face for the first time since Illiandur had joined him in the deepening shadows. Illiandur's eyes were closed, his face tilted up towards the sky like a flower seeking the last rays of sunlight. The youngest prince of Erebor noted with a dull pang that Illiandur's fiery hair had faded to a gentle gold in the absence of the sun, lending the short, slender man an almost ethereal look.

"I didn't tell anyone," the dwarf admitted quietly.

"I noticed," Illiandur replied, his voice rougher than it had been before. "I have to admit, I'm surprised that you didn't."

_I'm not_ , Kíli thought sourly, his fingers slipping into the folds of his tunic to wrap around the cool green stone that Galadriel had given him.

They were silent for a long moment, their eyes flickering automatically across the dark shapes of trees, rocks, and foliage. Dimly, as if from a great distance, Kíli could hear the muted rumbles of his dwarven companions mixed with the occasional comment by a Man or hobbit as the Fellowship made ready to settle down for the night. He wondered suddenly when his shift on watch would end, and who would be chosen to relieve him.

"My father tried to take Gondor."

Kíli started at the sound of Illiandur's voice and blinked at the Man of Gondor, only to note with a vague sense of surprise that the Man had risen to sit next to him on the boulder.

"He was of the blood of the Númenóreans, as I am," Illiandur continued quietly. "Aragorn shares that blood- it is the reason why he is the rightful heir to the throne, if he should ever take it into his mind to claim such a burden."

"I don't understand," Kíli broke in hesitantly. "What are Númenóreans?"

"A race of Men," he replied simply. "Once beloved by Eru. Their king, Elendil, and his sons were the founders of Gondor and Arnor. His sons, Isildur and Anárion, ruled Gondor until their deaths during and after the war against Sauron. My father and I are descendants of Estelmo, the squire of Isildur's son, while Aragorn is the descendent of Isildur's youngest child, Valandill. Once, there were many other Númenóreans in both Gondor and Arnor; our bloodlines were strong, and we were honored as remnants of the last noble race of Man.

"My father, Daranúr, was obsessed with the glory and honor that came with possessing the blood of Númenór. He began to desire more, to wonder why it was that the Stewards of Gondor, men whose blood was so mixed with that of the other races of Men that they could barely be considered Númenóreans, were allowed to occupy the king's halls and ready the city for the true king's return. He began to gather a following, to plan in the dark hours of the night for the day when he could rise up and take the stewardship for himself."

Illiandur paused for a moment and swallowed heavily. His breaths were loud in the darkness, his shoulders trembling slightly where they pressed against Kíli's own.

"I was ten when Ecthelion discovered the plot," he stated flatly. "Too young to have been held responsible for any of my father's actions, yet old enough to be dragged behind my mother to wach Daranúr lose his head alongside many of his co-conspirators. I petitioned to join the guard two years later, and was accepted by order of Ecthelion."

"Why?" Kíli croaked.

Illiandur shrugged. "Ecthelion is a fair ruler. He saw that I did not share my father's ambitions regarding the stewardship of Gondor and he had heard from a few of his lower guards about my potential. Besides, Orc attacks were already increasing in frequency by that time, and only a fool would have passed over a willing soldier. My bloodline ensure that I rose to a respectable position in the ranks of the army."

"I meant, why did you join the army of the man who had killed your father?" Kíli interrupted gently.

Illiandur was silent again, his brow furrowed in thought.

"…My father and I were never close," he said carefully. "I was sickly as a child, and many believed that, even if I survived to manhood, I would be completely useless when it came to physical matters. Daranúr could hardly comprehend that his only child, a son of the line of Númenór, would be too ill to hold a sword. Shortly before his execution, when I became stronger, I tried to earn his approval by convincing several warriors of Gondor to train me, but my efforts were never enough.

"After Daranúr's death, my family was dishonored. Ecthelion had taken a large portion of my father's fortune immediately after his death, and although he left us with a generous amount, there were times when we struggled to provide for ourselves. I needed to find a way to take care of my mother and, more importantly, to win back my family's honor. Before Denethor summoned me, I was frustrated by the little progress that I had made. True, I was a soldier of Gondor, and my deeds in battle had given me some small amount of prestige but there were still many who only saw me as the son of a traitor. Denethor offered me a way to change that. He could make me a captain, give me a position as a guard to the Steward- I couldn't pass up such a chance."

Kíli was frowning before the last words had faded into the air around them. He watched Illiandur turn to look at him, his grey eyes pleading.

"I am telling you this so that you can understand," the warrior of Gondor whispered.

"I don't," Kíli snapped. He softened at the wounded look that crept into the Man's eyes, his free hand moving of its own accord to press against the fabric of Illiandur's new elven cloak.

"Alright, I do understand, a little," he amended. "But… Isn't the fate of Middle-earth more important than your reputation?"

Illiandur stared at him, his features flushing a bright, furious red.

"You- How- This isn't about my reputation," he hissed. "This is about _honor_ , not that I expect dwarves to understand any concept of what that means."

"You'd be surprised," Kíli snapped. "And at the end of the day, honor isn't about how many people respect you or how high your rank is. A man with honor is a man who can face himself every morning and know that he has done the right thing, no matter the consequence." The dwarf leaned closer to Illiandur until their breath mingled between them, dark eyes boring into grey. "Answer me this, Illiandur of Gondor: will you be able to face yourself if the Ring is not destroyed because of your desire for honor?"

The warrior stood up abruptly and walked back towards camp, leaving Kíli alone once more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm sorry for not updating earlier -.-'. Anyways, I do have a few semi-important notes here: a) yes, Adamant is a dwobbit and Dori, Nori, and Ori's niece, b) I left out a lot about the Numenoreans in Illiandur's explanation for the sake of time, but if you guys want to learn more about them, feel free to read about it in either the Silmarillion or the Appendices of The Return of the King, c) Fíli and Kíli's stones are rose quartz and jade respectively, and feel free to guess why Galadriel gave them to those two and Thorin's stone will be revealed later ;P, d) that bit where Gimli asks Galadriel for a lock of her hair actually happened in the book, and e) I decided not to include that bit where Galadriel gives the Ringbearer the light of the star, because of reasons.


	18. with fragile peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wounds begin to heal

"Everyone, start heading back to the boats," Thorin called, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of irritation and concern as he watched several of his kin stumble around in obvious exhaustion.

Kíli's features were drawn and weary as he repacked his bag and hefted his bow across his shoulder, carefully avoiding eye contact with either his brother or the man from Gondor. Illiandur himself wasn't much better, and Thorin knew for a fact that Dwalin, Bofur, and Dori had barely slept at all since the Council.

"Thorin?"

A small smile rose unbidden to his lips at the sound of Bilbo's voice and he glanced down at the hobbit that had moved to his side, his smile faltering slightly when he caught sight of the concern in the hobbit's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Bilbo whispered. He followed the dwarf king's gaze and frowned. "Eru, they look exhausted."

"I don't know how long they can keep going like this," Thorin admitted quietly. "Dwalin, Bofur, Dori… now Kíli's barely sleeping, and that Man, Illiandur-."

"You don't look much better yourself, you know," Bilbo pointed out. "Did you sleep at all?"

Thorin felt heat rise into his cheeks and looked away, silently hoping that Bilbo wouldn't notice. His hand moved up to the thin strip of leather that hung from around his neck, fingers brushing against the plain white bead that was now resting against his chest. He hadn't quite been able to finish the bead last night; as it was, he was still impressed that he had managed to carve anything out of the small mass of white stone that Galadriel had given him. If he hadn't found the carving tools that had somehow been tucked into his pack before their departure, it was doubtful that he would have been able to carve anything at all (and, perhaps, once he was done cursing the elves for their interference, he would thank them for being so thoughtful… maybe).

"I slept enough," he muttered.

Bilbo's frown deepened and he opened his mouth to say something, only to stop and stare back at the Fellowship in shock. Thorin frowned as well and whirled around to follow the hobbit's gaze.

Kíli and Fíli crouched casually in Thengel's boat, apparently oblivious to the horselord's confused spluttering as they carelessly began to toss several packs out of the bottom of the vessel.

"Oi!" Thengel yelped when a small dagger nearly smacked him over the top of the head. "By the Valar- What the blazes are you doing? Don't throw that!"

"Begging your pardon, Master Thengel," Kíli replied airily. "But we thought that your load needed to be lightened a bit, seeing as you'll be carrying a few extra passengers."

"What are you-?"

"Dori, Bofur, Dwalin and I are going to be joining you today, along with Mistress Took," Fíli explained with a low grunt. The heir of Erebor lugged a heavy shield out of the bottom of the boat with a low grunt and tossed it with reasonable gentleness onto the sand. "Where one earth did you get that shield? Did he have that in Lórien, Kee?"

"Don't think so," Kíli mused. "Then again, he is a Man. Men are far more sly than we give them credit for, I think," he added, his brown eyes suddenly sharp as they focused on the Man of Rohan.

Thengel's face reddened and he stopped spluttering, his eyes narrowing slightly in return. Thorin's frown deepened and he made to stop the proceedings, only to be held back by Bilbo's hand on his arm.

"Wait," the hobbit muttered. "I… I want to see where this is going."

Thorin scowled.

"And where are you going to sit, K- Master Dwarf?" Illiandur called, his expression carefully-neutral. "I didn't hear you mention yourself in this arrangement."

Kíli glared at Illiandur, his eyes hardening even as his voice became lighter. "Why, I shall be keeping you company with the baggage, Mister Andur," he chirped, his smile thinning when Illiandur openly flinched at the nickname. "Mistress Baggins shall take my place in Legolas' boat with Prim and Gimli."

"It's _Sackeville_ -Baggins," Lobelia grumbled, her fingers picking irritably at tangled locks of golden-brown hair.

Thorin heard Bilbo chuckle bitterly at the hobbit woman's expense and turned to fix the hobbit with a half-amused look, his lips twitching into another smile when the smaller creature looked away with a light blush.

"Perhaps it would be best for Mistress _Sackeville_ -Baggins to join us in the boat with Aragorn?" he suggested casually, his smile widening at the horrified glances that Bilbo and the hobbit woman in question shot him in response. "It would allow Legolas's boat to carry more baggage as well."

"Thorin presents a sound argument," Aragorn agreed slowly, his eyes flickering with obvious interest between the two hobbits.

Bilbo grimaced, his features crumpling into a sullen glare when Thorin only chuckled again.

"If I can make my peace with elves on your behalf, you can make peace with your cousin on mine," Thorin murmured. "This quest will be hard enough without us having to worry about a family feud. Bilbo," he added in a quieted voice when Bilbo made to object. "Please."

"Why do you care about me getting along with Lobelia?" Bilbo whispered.

Thorin smiled bitterly, his mind suddenly flooded with memories of flashing blue eyes beneath a mane of golden hair.

"Frerin and I fought before the battle of Azanulbizar," he explained. "He… he warned me that the battle for Moria was pointless, claimed that Thror's mind was too addled by his desire for gold for him to see reason. I nearly threw him out of our tent, I was so furious. As it was, I couldn't bring myself to speak with him before we marched into battle, and after the fighting had ended, it was too late for me to say anything at all…" His voice died as it always did whenever he spoke of his younger brother, his eyes burning with the phantoms of tears that he had been too proud to shed on the battlefield so many years ago.

A small, warm hand pressed hesitantly against his cheek, shaking Thorin from his thoughts. The dwarf king stared down at Bilbo, his sapphire eyes softening when he saw the hobbit's hesitant, comforting gaze. He leaned into Bilbo's touch, his calloused fingers pressing against the Halfling's hand to hold it against his skin.

"War is the worst place in the world to fight with the ones that you love, Halfling," he murmured. "I have learned that lesson far too many times."

Bilbo sighed and reached up to run his free hand across the other side of Thorin's face, his features flushing a brilliant scarlet when the dwarf groaned quietly at the touch. The hobbit slowly pulled his hands away, his eyes never leaving Thorin's face.

"I- We should probably help the others," he stammered. "There's a lot of… baggage that needs to be redistributed."

"The others can handle it," Thorin rumbled.

Bilbo laughed and shook his head, his eyes darkening with an emotion that sent shivers down Thorin's spine. The hobbit bit his lip, his eyes flickering over his shoulders towards the other members of the Fellowship. His fingers lowered and tangled themselves in the collar of Thorin's tunic. With a sharp tug, Bilbo pulled the shocked dwarf down to his level and pressed his lips to Thorin's in a brief, hasty kiss before pulling away with a low huff.

"Right, so… Baggage. Helping others. Need to… Right," he mumbled, his short legs already carrying him towards his hobbit kin.

Thorin stared after him, his lips parted and tingling from the hobbit's kiss. He heard a rough, shocked laugh from somewhere to his left and turned to see Dwalin and Aragorn failing to hide their grins.

"By Mahal, Thorin, I hope the boys are better at this than you," Dwalin drawled.

"I think he's doing very well," Aragorn mused. "It took five years for Arwen to kiss _me_."

Thorin's eyebrows raised at that and he sent the Ranger a half-amused, half-grateful look. Aragorn winked, his expression quickly smoothing into his usual, solemn expression as he moved to help Bofur with several of the packs.

Thorin met Dwalin's eyes for a brief moment, his mouth curving downward when he saw the tiny spark of amusement that was rapidly fading from the warrior's eyes. Dwalin grunted and moved towards Thorin to clasp him on the shoulder.

"I'm happy for yeh," he croaked before turning away, his shoulders bent with an unspeakable weariness.

Thorin watched him go, trying to ignore the sudden weight of the bead around his neck.

*---*---*---*

Thengel's boat was silent as the Man of Rohan maneuvered them through the Anduin.

Dori and Dwalin gave the Man assistance every once in a while, taking care to keep the boat within sight of the rest of the Fellowship. Adamant and Fíli were nearly pressed together in the center of the boat, their flushed cheeks deepening to bright scarlett everytime they managed to meet each other's gaze. The half-hobbit girl barely seemed to breathe, her wide blue eyes flickering timidly between the faces of her companions before training stubbornly on the craft's floor. No one had dared to speak since their departure, and the tension had spread until nearly every boat in their little flotilla was cloaked in heavy silence.

Bofur hated it.

He missed the laughter and song and _excitement_ that had once belonged to the Company, missed the jokes and money bags that had been tossed between his travelling companions every once in a while. He missed the sound of Nori's laughter everytime he made a joke, missed the way the auburn-haired dwarf's eyes had lit up with adrenaline everytime he managed to pull off a theft.

He missed Nori. He missed his One.

_'Cept he wasn't my One, was 'e?_ he thought bitterly. _Not really… Never told 'im_.

Someone sniffled.

Bofur turned his head towards the sound. Adamant Took sniffed again quietly, her red eyes a sharp contrast to the pale green tinge to her skin. The toymaker felt his heart break again, silently noting how much her curly auburn hair resembled Nori's in the sunlight. There was something in her face, too, that reminded him of the thief, a phantom of mischief and cleverness that had drawn him to Nori in the first place.

Bofur was moving before he had consciously thought about it, his arm wrapping securely around the girl's shoulders. The half-hobbit stared up at him with wide eyes, her mouth opening and closing in half-formed words.

"Now, now, lass," he murmured, his brown eyes flickering up to meet Dwalin's as the warrior half-turned to listen. "No tears yet, aye? The journey's barely even started yet!"

Adamant chuckled weakly, although Bofur noted that her eyes were still wet with tears.

"Are you saying… that I'll need to save them for later?" she whispered thickly.

Bofur's smile faltered and he instinctively pulled her closer. "Aye, sometimes ye do, lass… Sometimes things come up tha' ye didn't expect."

Adamant nodded slowly, her expression suddenly, inexpressibly weary.

"They were my uncles, weren't they?" she whispered. "The two dwarves that Galadriel…"

"Aye," Bofur sighed.

Dori stiffened in front of them, his knuckles nearly white around the handle of the oar. Adamant bit her lip and looked back at the bottom of the boat, her fingers playing with a small tendril of her hair.

"S-should have known," she muttered. "T-They always s-s-said…"

"Who?" Fíli asked quietly.

"T-The other hobbits," she whispered. "Mostly… Sackevilles and Proudfeet and the like… Sometimes a Bracegirdle or two. Never the Bagginses, though. Belladonna and Bilbo never let them."

"What are ye talking about, lass?" Dwalin grunted, his cheeks reddening slightly when the half-hobbit stared at him in slight surprise.

Adamant hesitated, her eyes lingering on Dori's stiff back before she met Fíli's gentle, encouraging gaze.

"My father… after my mother died, he began to Fade," she began.

"He what?" Bofur blurted out, confused.

Adamant's lips twitched slightly.

"The Fade," she explained. "It… it's what happens to hobbits after they lose their, what do you call it, their One. How long it takes them to Fade depends on the strength of the hobbit and how much they have to live for, how healthy they are. Most of the time, though, it only takes a few months, maybe a year, before they're gone."

"Gone?" Fíli repeated, his eyes wide. "You mean… they die?"

Adamant nodded.

"My father, Isengar, lasted for twenty years," she murmured. "Some of the crueler hobbits said that it was because he never… really loved my mother, while others said it had something to do with the fact that she had been a dwarf. Belladonna always said it was because he didn't want to leave me. Belladonna Baggins was my father's closest sibling; she took me in after he died and claimed that she would raise me as her own."

"Baggins?" Thengel mused from his place in the stern. "Any relation to Master Bilbo?" The horselord flushed slightly when the others turned to stare at him in surprise. "What? It's not like I can't hear everything she's saying."

The girl giggled. Bofur felt his own lips curve upwards in response and saw Fíli grin as well, his hazel eyes brighter than the toymaker had seen in ages. The ghost of a smile flickered across Dwalin's features, and even Dori's solemn face seemed to lighten at the sound of his niece's laughter.

"Belladonna was Bilbo's mother," Adamant explained finally. "Bilbo was about ten at the time, and between him and his parents they managed to keep most of the… the gossip away, but sometimes it wasn't really… enough. I was different. I knew it, the other hobbits knew it and t-the Shire doesn't always appreciate… different."

Bofur's smile faded and he started to pull her closer once again, only to stop when she shook her head.

"I-it's alright," she whispered. "I got used to it after awhile, I suppose. You can only listen to people tease or gossip about you so many times before it stops mattering as much. I-It still hurts, of course, but it's not like there was anything that I could do about it. I'm not a hobbit, and the Shire isn't my home, not really. Bag End is, but… not the Shire."

Dori sucked in a sharp breath and slowly turned to look at the girl, his pale eyes hesitant and dark with sadness.

"I… You do have a home, if you want it," he said. "After this is all over… We had rooms in Erebor, my… brothers and I. If you do not wish to return to the Shire after the Ring is destroyed, I would be- I would take care of you."

Adamant stared at her uncle, her expression so shocked and vulnerable that the sight of it nearly broke Bofur's heart.

"Really?" she breathed.

Dori nodded slowly, his mouth curving into a small, sad smile.

"You are so much like your mother, you know," he told her. "Although you didn't inherit the family nose, thank Mahal."

"Belladonna said my father liked her nose," Adamant objected with timid humor. "S-She said that was one of the first things that he loved about her."

Dori laughed hoarsely and shook his head with a grin.

"Hm, I do wish I had been able to meet your father," he mused. "I think we might have gotten along very well."

"Aye, if ye didn' castrate the lad first," Dwalin huffed. "Mahal, you were protective enough of Ori. I pity the poor sod that takes a fancy ta Addy here."

Bofur saw some of the blood drain from Fíli's face out of the corner of his eye and failed to bite back a grin, his smile widening when Adamant flushed bright red and Dori smacked Dwalin across the top of the head. He had missed this.

_Nori… I wish ye could've seen this._

*---*---*---*

It was two days before Ori could walk again.

Apparently he was supposed to feel lucky that he hadn't been out longer- Radagast and Nori both stressed how serious his condition had been, how close he had come to leaving the world of the living, how careful he would have to be until he could regain his full strength.

After about three hours of such reassurances, the scribe wanted to scream.

By Mahal, if he had wanted to be coddled and treated like a fragile child, he would have just stayed in Erebor.

Nori and Radagast had already left the cave by the time Ori woke up, leaving one of the tall, tree-like Ent creatures as a guard. The Ent watched Ori with a vague, ancient sort of amusement as the dwarf slowly got to his feet and stumbled towards the entrance, its spindly fingers moving up to stroke its mossy beard.

"Such a stubborn creature you are, hrmmhum," it mused. "And so hasty… What's the rush, lad?"

"I-I'm tired of lying here like a useless lump," he grumbled. "A-And I'm t-tired of having them treat me like a child. I want to be useful, dammit."

The Ent cocked its head to the side. "Hooomhah, such hasty dwarves… Odd creatures."

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware of my oddness," Ori muttered, his eyes flickering frantically around the cave. "Where on earth did he put my knife- Ah!" The scribe bent and deftly removed Ilnir's knife from the folds of his tattered cloak and sheathed it in his belt, his face falling for a moment as he ran his fingers across the gleaming hilt.

_Ilnir…_

"They were quite worried about you, you know," the Ent continued mildly. "Hrmm, especially the one with the star-shaped hair. Such an odd shape for hair…"

Ori sighed. "I know…" He knew that Nori had been worried. Sometimes in his sleep he could still see his brother's wide, frantic eyes and tear-stained face, his expression tainted with the same haunted darkness that had tormented both him and Dori in the years after Vestri's death.

Truthfully, Ori couldn't blame his brother for worrying as much as he did. He had no doubt that he would have been just as bad if it had been Nori, Dori, or, Mahal forbid, Dwalin practically dying in front of him. Still…

"I just wanted to prove how strong I was," he muttered, not really sure why he was telling all of these things to a tree… thing. "Everyone treats me like some child, even Dwalin… I just wanted to show them that I could take care of myself."

"Next time, you might want to avoid being shot," Nori called dryly, his weather-beaten features flushed and weary as he stalked into the cave.

The thief paused and clasped his brother on the shoulder, his brown eyes soft. "And for the record, I know full well that you can take care of yourself. That doesn't mean that I actually want you throwing yourself into every dangerous circumstance just to prove yourself, but… I would trust you to watch my back in any battle."

Ori blinked up at him in obvious shock, trying to ignore the dull burning of tears that were starting to rise in his eyes.

_Don't cry… Warriors don't cry, Dwalin doesn't- Oh Mahal._

"Dwalin," he gasped. "And Dori. All of them- They must have reached Lothlórien by now."

Nori nodded stiffly, his eyes darkening once more with fatigue. "Aye. Radagast received word from some dove or pigeon or something that they just set out with some additional members- including three more hobbits, if you can believe it."

Ori smiled slightly, only to falter at the thought of three more of Bilbo's kin dragged into such a dangerous quest.

"Do they… Do they know about Ilnir, and…?"

"One or two of the elves managed to escape from the Orcs," Nori muttered. The thief sighed heavily and ran a hand through his tangled auburn hair. "Ori, the elves, they… they don't know that we've survived. Or, they didn't know. I think Radagast just sent them a message or something, but the others, Dori and Dwalin and… the others, they don't-."

Ori swore violently in Khuzdul, his cheeks flushing slightly when Nori raised his eyebrows at him.

"I'm going to just assume for Dwalin's sake that he didn't teach you that word," he said airily.

"They think we're dead, then?" Ori hissed. "All of them?"

Nori nodded slowly. "As far as we know, yes."

The scribe groaned and tugged anxiously at locks of his own hair, his features crumpling in dismay. Mahal, Dwalin was going to kill him if Dori didn't murder him first…

"We need to talk to them," he muttered. "Nori, we need to tell them that we're alright!"

"I know, Ori, I know, but it's not as if we know where they are!" the thief shot back. "Radagast doesn't even know exactly where they are now, and he's a wizard! Besides, what about Saruman? The plains are crawling with Orcs, and the forest won't be much better if we give it enough time. Even if we did manage to figure out where everyone was, there's barely a chance that we'd make it."

"We can't just sit here and hope that they find us eventually, either," Ori argued. "We need to tell them!"

"Hruummm, such hasty folk," the Ent mumbled. "Oh, stuff it you… you…"

"Treebeard is what they call me in the Common Tongue, Master Dwarf," the Ent informed him politely. "I'm afraid my real name would be rather difficult for your tongues."

"Treebeard, then!" Ori huffed. "Stay out of this, if you please!"

The Ent hummed but stayed silent all the same, its large, almost-human eyes following the arguing dwarves with vague interest. All three of the cave's inhabitants turned when a short, squat figure half-covered in wings and bird dung burst through the opening, his small form practically quivering in excitement.

"Treebeard! Nori! Or- Ori! So nice to see you up, my lad, I'll be sure to tell Sebastian that the spell worked- bloody hedgehog was trying to tell me that I could only heal animals…"

"What happened, Master Radagast?" Nori asked wearily, his eyebrow twitching slightly as the wizard stared around at them with a dazed expression on his face.

"Oh yes, yes, I need to tell you… Delilah just told me a few moments ago, and I'm not quite certain, only it certainly seems as though it's them, I don't know why else Orcs would-."

"Master Radagast," Nori sighed. "I'm afraid I don't understand-."

"Orcs," the brown wizard growled, his expression suddenly grave. "Heading towards the Anduin."

"The Anduin?" Ori repeated dumbly. "Why would they-?"

"When the Fellowship departed from Lothlórien they did so by boat," Nori explained shortly. "Odds are that they're still on the water, so…"

"The Orcs are looking for them," the scribe realized.

When his brother and the wizard only nodded, Ori reached for Ilnir's knife with a low growl, his normally-gentle eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'm going after them," he snapped.

"Ori, we'd never beat the Orcs-."

"I don't care!" Ori yelled, startling even the Ent in his ferocity. "I can't just sit by helplessly and do nothing! Even if we can't reach them before the Orcs do, we can at least be there to offer whatever assistance we can."

Nori studied him for a long moment, his expression openly conflicted. The thief took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to Radagast, his jaw set.

"…Any chance that we could borrow that rabbit sled of yours?" he asked casually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, about Adamant's age: As you may have noticed, she is about ten years older than Bilbo. However, since she's half-dwarf, I've decided to make her ageing process similar to that of dwarves, although her life-span will probably be a few years shorter (say, 200 years or so compared to the 100 or so years of the average hobbit). So, despite the fact that she is technically older than Bilbo, physically and mentally she is younger than him and is probably closer to Primula. Sorry if this is confusing, please let me know if you have any questions.


	19. and light fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ring awakens, Ones are discussed, and more hobbits leave the Shire.

Lobelia was shivering in the bottom of the boat. 

Bilbo frowned and tore his eyes away from his cousin, his frown deepening when he caught Thorin's eye. The dwarf king's lips twitched into a small smile that send a warm shiver down Bilbo's spine. Thorin's smile widened as if he could tell what the hobbit was thinking and glanced pointedly in Lobelia's direction before turning back to help Aragorn row the boat. 

The hobbit continued to glare half-heartedly at Thorin's back for a long moment, his eyes flickering back to his cousin in time to see her shudder. He sighed and shifted closer until their shoulders were pressed together. The hobbit woman stiffened and shot him a surprised, hesitant glance. Her normally-rosy cheeks were pale, with strands of her honey curls plastered to cheeks that were sticky with tears and river water. 

"Are you alright?" he whispered. 

Lobelia sniffed and flashed him a rather impressive glare, considering the circumstances. 

"Do I _look_ alright?" she hissed. 

Bilbo chuckled despite himself and shook his head, his thoughts flashing back to another hobbit so many months ago that had glared up at a half-drowned dwarf king beneath his own layer of soaked locks. 

"You look better than I did," he assured her. "Consider yourself lucky- My first journey down a river was spent hanging onto the side of a barrel." 

He bit his lip to hold back a laugh at the wide-eyed look of horror that she gave him in response to that statement. For one, brief moment, he could see the young hobbit girl that she had once been, the girl who would follow him to the edge of Hobbiton on all of his adventures and wait impatiently for him to return so that he could regale her with tales of all that he had encountered. 

_What happened to you, Lobelia?_ He wondered. 

As if in answer to that question, the hobbit woman's eyes darkened again and she wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders tense. 

"…I'm sorry," she muttered curtly. 

Bilbo blinked and stared at her, his eyebrows rising in a silent question when she finally glowered back. Lobelia grumbled quietly and turned away again, her face reddening when she noticed the discreet, curious glances that Thorin and Aragorn were sending the two hobbits. 

"For Addy," she bit out. "What I said in the… in that elf forest. I'm sorry." 

"It really wasn't any of your business," Bilbo mused. 

"I _know_ ," Lobelia snarled, her blush deepening when both the Ranger and the dwarf king stared down at her in obvious surprise. 

Bilbo merely smiled gently, unimpressed. 

"Then again, you are a Baggins, and a Sackeville-Baggins at that," he mused. "And everyone knows that a Baggins can't keep their nose out of someone else's business, even if it kills them."

Lobelia smiled weakly. "So that's why you walked across half of Middle Earth with a company of dwarves." 

"That's probably one of the reasons, yes," he admitted with a quiet laugh, his features darkening with concern when his cousin shivered once again. 

Both hobbits started when a thick fur cloak was draped across their shoulders. Bilbo glanced up just in time to see Thorin settle back into his seat in the boat, his carefully-neutral expression ruined by the faint stain of red in his cheeks and the smug look in his sapphire eyes. The former burglar bit his lip to hold back a laugh and carefully wrapped the folds of the cloak around himself and his cousin, content to treasure this one moment of peace. 

He was nearly half asleep by the time they reached it, his arm wrapped securely around a slumbering Lobelia beneath Thorin's cloak. Bilbo stiffened when two large, dark shadows suddenly fell across the boat, his wide eyes lifting to stare in awe at the two enormous stone figures that loomed above them, their large hands extended as if to stop all invaders from passing. Dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard Thorin whisper something in Khuzdul and felt the dwarf's rough fingers reach back to brush against his shoulder. Aragorn was silent, but in that moment Bilbo saw something shine through the Ranger's usual quiet solemnity. 

The Ranger was gone beneath the shade of the statues. In his place was someone grander and mightier, someone that the hobbit would follow into the depths of chaos without a moment of doubt. In the shadows of the river, Aragorn had become a king. 

The moment passed as quickly as the statues, leaving the hobbit slightly winded as he stared up at the dark-haired man. Aragorn glanced back at Bilbo, his brow raised in a silent question that didn't quite hide his own sense of awe and fear. The hobbit leaned forward without a second thought to press his small hand against Aragorn's arm, his lips quirking up into a small, hesitant smile when the Ranger stared down at him in confusion. 

"You're going to make a great king, you know," he murmured. 

The Man started and stared, wide-eyed at the hobbit, his gaze moving up to lock on the other inhabitants of the boat when both Thorin and Lobelia began to nod. 

"I-." He stopped and swallowed heavily, his hand coming up to brush against a gleaming white chain that was nearly hidden beneath his clothes. 

"Thank you, Master Baggins," he said finally. "You are too kind." 

"He's really not," Thorin and Lobelia interrupted simultaneously. 

Bilbo stared between them in shock, his eyes narrowing when the dwarf king and the hobbit woman chuckled nervously. 

"I would listen to Bilbo, Aragorn," Thorin continued seriously. "Never doubt the judgement of a hobbit, for they are some of the wisest beings that I have ever known." 

"You obviously haven't met many Tooks," Lobelia muttered lowly. 

Bilbo glared at her, his expression ruined by the wide grin that was already rising onto his lips. 

"Or Bracegirdles," he added delicately, his grin widening wickedly at the glare that Lobelia sent him in response. 

He heard Aragorn chuckle and looked up as the Man began to push them in the direction of the eastern bank. 

"The falls of Rauros are close," he explained quietly. "We must discuss what path we will take now."

Bilbo nodded slowly, only to freeze when a soft, familiar voice slipped into his mind. 

_The end has begun Ringbearer. They will start, soon. They will try and take your precious from you._

"Go away," Bilbo muttered under his breath, causing Lobelia to glance at him in surprise and confusion. 

"Bilbo, what-?" 

"Nothing, 'Belia," Bilbo told her quickly. "It's nothing." 

Thorin was looking at him as well, now, his eyes dark with a concern that was all-too knowing. 

_They will take it from you… they will turn against you. Watch as they betray you, Halfling… Watch._

*---*---*---* 

Kíli collapsed onto the ground beside his brother with a low sigh, his mouth curving into a small, reassuring smile when both Fíli and Dwalin flashed him looks of concern. The dwarven prince simply shrugged, his smile widening when Adamant, Dori, and Bofur came to join them as well. 

"Have a nice ride, then?" he asked casually. 

Dori rolled his eyes and flashed the prince a small, grateful nod before settling in between Adamant and Fíli. Kíli choked back a laugh at Fíli's resulting pout and ducked before his brother could smack him. 

"Aye, it was nice," Bofur called casually from his place beside Dwalin. "Though I don' think I can say the same for you, lad." 

Dwalin grunted in agreement and raised his eyebrows at Kíli even as Fíli elbowed the younger dwarf in the side, his eyes narrowed in concern. 

"By Mahal, lad, I thought ye were better than yer uncle with all of this," Dwalin observed dryly. "At least Thorin's actually _talkin'_ ta his One." 

"What's a One?" Primula asked loudly. The hobbit girl smiled cheerfully at Kíli and promptly threw herself onto the ground beside him, her plump legs crossed gracefully beneath the short sword at her belt.

The dwarves promptly shushed her, their eyes flickering simultaneously to where Thorin and Bilbo had settled beside Aragorn and Lobelia. The dwarf king glared at them, his eyes lingering on Kíli with a concern look that made the dwarf's heart sink. Aulë, did _everyone_ know? 

"Dwarves believe that every one of Mahal's creations has another half that they are searching for, a soulmate, if you will," Dori explained to Primula, his frazzled expression softening when he noticed that Adamant was listening to him with obvious interest. "We refer to our soulmates as our 'Ones', for they are the one person on this earth that can make us truly happy." 

"So, dwarves are the only ones who can have… Ones?" Primula demanded in a lower voice. 

"Some dwarves think so," Bofur told her. "Although, given what I've seen lately, I have ta disagree with 'em," he added with a significant glance in Bilbo and Thorin's direction. 

Primula and Adamant followed his gaze with wide eyes, their mouthes falling open the moment they understood.

" _No_ ," Primula gasped. "Bilbo… and _Thorin_? A dwarf king? Oh sweet Eru, wait until the Shire gets wind of this." 

"Why didn't Bilbo tell us that he was engaged?" Adamant asked quietly. 

"I'm sure he would have if he was," Fíli reassured her. 

"He's not?" Primula hissed. 

Kíli shrugged and flashed the girl a small, comforting smile.

"Uncle and Bilbo are… complicated," he muttered. "Uncle Thorin still feels guilty about everything that he did to Bilbo during the gold sickness. Add that to his natural ability to mess up anything involving emotions and, well…" 

"He's an idiot," Dwalin said shortly. "But he's makin' progress." 

The two hobbit girls frowned with a mixture of confusion and frustration that nearly sent Kíli into a fit of laughter. 

"So, is your One Illiandur, then?" Primula asked suddenly. 

"His what?" 

Kíli froze and slowly turned to stare up at the newest arrival to their group. Illiandur stared down at him, his shoulders slumped with the same exhaustion and tension that had seemed to hang around them throughout the day. He heard Bofur and Fíli choke on something that could almost be called laughter and blindly reached out to smack his brother on the shoulder. 

Illiandur raised his eyebrows and quietly settled onto the ground beside Kíli and Primula. 

"You don't have to tell me," he muttered, not quite able to meet Kíli's gaze. "It's alright." 

Kíli grimaced and pointedly ignored the exasperated looks that the other dwarves were now sending his way as he turned away from Illiandur, his eyes gazing unseeingly on the crackling fire that Gimli and Legolas had managed to create. 

A small hand curled around his. Kíli stiffened and glanced down just as Primula pulled herself closer, her expression fierce and filled with knowing. 

"Only a fool gives up on love when it is right in front of them," the hobbit hissed. " _Talk to him_. That's the only way to really make things work between you." 

"I _have_ talked to him," Kíli objected under his breath. "Just… not about that. And what makes you think that I want to make things work?" 

Primula stared him down, unimpressed. "Because he's your One." 

*---*---*---* 

Thorin kept his arm around Bilbo as Aragorn stood to speak with the rest of the Fellowship. The hobbit had practically curled into himself since they had left the boat, his hands clenched into tight, restrained fists at his sides. He hadn't said a word, had barely spared his cousin a strained smile when Lobelia flashed him a few too many concerned looks. 

He had allowed Thorin to stay near him, though. And for that, the dwarf king was grateful. 

"As you all may have noticed, today we passed the guardians of the Emyn Muil into the territory of the ancient kings of Gondor," Aragorn announced to the company. 

Several of the dwarves and all of the hobbits stared up at him, their faces blank. 

"And… tha's supposed ta tell us what, exactly?" Gimli asked finally, his cheeks reddening when Legolas smiled and Thengel chuckled in response. 

Aragorn seemed taken aback for a moment and glanced back at Thorin with a hint of confusion, as if it hadn't crossed his mind that any of the company would know less about the lands of the south than he did. Thorin simply raised his eyebrows, not quite able to acknowledge his own ignorance on the subject. 

"The Emyn Muil are a mountain range that follow the Anduin until the falls of Rauros," Thengel explained easily. "After the falls, the Anduin links up with the Entwash and the Wetwang until it reaches Cair Andros. From there it is merely a straight shot to Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, the two great cities of Gondor." 

"We're not going to Gondor, though," Dori piped up from his position beside his niece. "We're going to Mordor." 

"We can reach Mordor through Gondor," Thengel argued. "The cities of Gondor can give us a place were we can rest and prepare for our trek into Mordor. Lord Denethor could give us additional men, as well; he could help us plan-." 

"Isn't that Ecthelion's responsibility, as the Steward of Gondor?" Aragorn interrupted. "And Dori is right- it was not our plan to go through Gondor." 

"The only other way to Mordor is through the Dead Marshes," Thengel snapped. "If you would rather wade through cursed swamps and Orc-infested fen, be my guest. I, for one, would prefer the path that gives us more of a chance of survival." 

Thorin frowned and noted the conflicted glances that several of his dwarves were exchanging over the heads of their hobbit companions. Even the strongest army would find it dangerous to travel through Orc territory, and the presence of three untrained hobbits, no matter their skills in sneaking, was more of a liability than a blessing.

"And what if Denethor attempts to take the Ring from Bilbo?" Kíli asked carefully, his dark eyes sharp as they focused on the Man of Rohan. "You seemed enthusiastic enough to take it on his behalf, Master Thengel." 

"Denethor does not even know of the Ring-." 

"As I have said before, it is Ecthelion who holds power in Gondor. He is the one that we must-." 

"Ecthelion is ill," Illiandur interrupted, his low voice carrying easily across the group. "He has held the Stewardship of Gondor for many months." 

Silence fell across the Fellowship as all eyes turned to Illiandur. Kíli in particular seemed taken aback, his gaze locked on the Man's pale, nervous features with something akin to awe. 

"…In Lothlórien, you said that you spoke for Ecthelion," Aragorn said slowly. 

Illiandur took a deep breath and stared up at his kinsman, his jaw clenched tightly beneath his tangled red-gold hair. 

"I lied," he admitted. "It was Denethor who sent me. He gained knowledge of the Ring before the Council. He sent me to Lórien to ensure that it came to Gondor to be used as a weapon in defense of the city." 

Thorin frowned and unconsciously moved between Bilbo and the Man, his lips curling back in fury. 

"Why did you lie to us?" he demanded before Aragorn had a chance to speak again. 

Illiandur would not meet his gaze. 

"My reasons are my own," he muttered. "I was merely following the orders of my king-." 

"Denethor is not a king," Aragorn snapped. "He is not even Steward while Ecthelion lives. Gondor has no king, Illiandur. You know this as well as I do." 

The warrior nodded and fixed Aragorn with piercing grey eyes. 

"You are right," he agreed. "Gondor has no king. But perhaps it needs one." 

The Ranger flinched and glared at Illiandur before turning away with a low sigh. 

"Alright," he muttered. "We cannot go through Gondor." 

"What?" Thengel demanded. "What other choice do we have? Gondor is our only option." 

"I promised to see the Ringbearer safely into Mordor so that the Ring could be destroyed," Aragorn shot back. "I will not risk Bilbo's safety by bringing him into Denethor's grasp." 

"And yet you will risk the lives of the entire Fellowship by leading them straight into the territory of the Enemy?" Thengel yelled. "What of the Halflings, mighty king? What of their safety?" 

"Perhaps there is another way," Dori interjected quickly. 

"Any other path into Mordor would take us too long," Legolas argued. 

"No one said that we were on a schedule," Fíli pointed out. "Wouldn't the extra time be worth it if it meant increasing our chances of survival?" 

"The forces of Mordor are growing even as we speak," Illiandur said. "Even if we took the quickest path to Mordor, we would be hard pressed to reach Mount Doom before the armies of Sauron made their first move." 

"No one asked ye for yer opinion," Dwalin growled. 

"Leave him alone," Kíli snarled. "He told us the truth, he's only trying to help-." 

"How would you know if he's tellin' the truth or not?" Gimli demanded. "He deceived us once, he could be doing it again." 

"What could he possibly gain from deceiving us now?" Primula objected. 

"Stop it," Bilbo whimpered, his voice too low for most of the Fellowship to hear. 

Thorin turned immediately to the hobbit, his heart sinking when he saw the small, quivering ball that the Halfling had become in his arms. Bilbo flinched away from Thorin's touch, his features pale and coated with sweat. The hobbit shuddered, and suddenly there was a voice, a quiet, poisonous thing that slipped into Thorin's mind and pulled him towards the gleaming silver chain that now hung around the hobbit's neck.

 _…Thorin…._ _Take it, Thorin, take the Ring… The Halfling is too weak to carry such a burden… Too weak to use it like it should be used. You could use it, you have the strength, the **power** to wield it, oh mighty King._

Thorin stared at the Ring, deaf to the shouts and arguments that were slowly dying around him, his entire being focused on the tiny glimpse of gold that sang to him from beneath the hobbit's tunic. 

_You will be a great king… you will rule all of Middle Earth. Drive the elves away, let them know what it feels like to lose a home, to lose everything. Your men would never be without help, your family will never go without food or shelter again. You will have all the gold that you desire… All the riches of the world. All you have to do is **seize the chance and take the Ring!**_

"Thorin." 

The voice pulled Thorin's eyes away from the Ring, forced him to look at the weak, shuddering creature that stood between him and glory. The hobbit stared up at him with fear in its eyes, its features paler than they had been moments before. 

_It fears you… Such a weak creature. It is not worthy to wield the Ring._

"Thorin, stop it," the Halfling whispered and for a moment Thorin wondered if he had been speaking aloud. How else could such a creature know what he was thinking? 

"Thorin," the hobbit begged, his voice cracking pathetically as it scrambled away from Thorin's limp arms. "Please, you are not yourself- Don't listen to it!" 

_Take it… Take the Ring… TAKE IT._

"Get _away from him_!" 

Thorin grunted as his face made contact with the ground, his ears ringing with the sudden absence of the voice. He pushed himself to his knees, dazed, and stared up into the furious brown eyes of a hobbit woman with honey curls. He realized suddenly that everyone else had fallen silent, their eyes locked with varying expressions of confusion and wariness on the dwarf king and the hobbits. 

"Stay away from my cousin," Lobelia growled.

 _Take the Ring…_

Thorin flinched away from the voice, but it wasn't speaking to him now. He listened with dawning horror as the wicked tones began to seep through the air, begging the small hobbit that stood between the Ringbearer and the king to turn around and claim the prize for her own. 

Lobelia Sackeville-Baggins didn't even seem to hear the voice. Her eyes continued to burn into Thorin's, her soft hands curled into fists on her hips. Bilbo stumbled to his feet behind her, his features so pale and twisted with fear that it broke Thorin's heart.

 _Mahal… Not again. How could I have done this again?_

"Bilbo-," he croaked, his voice dying in his throat when the hobbit visibly flinched and began to hurry back towards the Anduin.

"I-I need some time," Bilbo called over his shoulder. "To myself. Please, just… just give me a moment." 

Then he was gone. 

*---*---*---* 

The village of Bree was silent, but for the quiet clop of pony's hooves across deserted streets. 

The pony's rider grimaced at every sound that his mount made, his hands fluttering across the reins in instinctive quieting gestures that he knew would be futile. After all, how did one silence an animal? It wasn't as if dear Lily was a wayward fauntling that could be shamed into being quiet with a stern look or a simple offering of cakes. He supposed that it would have been quieter if he had gone on foot- and perhaps, under different circumstances, he might have been foolish enough to try such a journey without the aid of a mount. 

But time was not a luxury that this particular creature had. He had already waited far too long to set off in search of what had been lost. 

Someone else was coming. 

The pony's rider stiffened at the unmistakeable sound of another rider coming up behind him and cast his eyes across the small shrubs and towering trees that lined the road out of Bree, searching desperately for a place to hide. Did he even have time to hide? How much time did one need to hide a pony? Perhaps it would be easier to simply take his things and leave the animal? Could he-?

"Drogo? Drogo Baggins?" 

Drogo stiffened and then, incredibly, relaxed at the sound of such a familiar, hushed whisper. The hobbit half-turned in his saddle to watch as the second pony rode up to his side, its rider only half-disguised by the old cloak that he had pulled across his golden curls. 

"Otho Sackeville-Baggins," he murmured. "What in Eru's name are you doing so far from Hobbiton?" 

"I could ask you the same thing," Otho huffed stiffly. "Strange for a _Baggins_ to go travelling." 

"Stranger still for a _Sackeville_ -Baggins," Drogo pointed out. "As I recall, your lot were the first and the loudest to condemn Bilbo for his journey." 

"And rightly so," Otho grumbled. "See where it has lead us! Bad enough that the man decided to run off on his own, but now 'Belia's been dragged into it-." 

"She went by choice, from what I've heard," Drogo mused. _As did Prim…_

Otho shot him a furious, pained look that Drogo found he could understand all too well. 

"She doesn't understand what she's getting herself into," he hissed. "She…" He stopped and sighed, his fingers tightening around his own reins. "I'm worried for her," he admitted quietly. "Not her reputation- that's down the drain, and I'm not going to be helping matters by going off myself. I just… I'm afraid, Drogo. I've heard rumors of what happened to Bilbo on his quest. Rumors of creatures and wickedness and- and danger. I can't just sit by and wait and hope that Lobelia comes back from all of this safe and sound. She's my _wife_! I promised to look after her, to take care of her, I…" 

"I know," Drogo murmured. 

Otho blinked at him, his expression suddenly young and vulnerable. 

"You do?" the hobbit asked hesitantly. 

Drogo smiled sadly. 

"What else could possibly bring a Baggins out of Hobbiton?" he demanded. "The Valar know I'm not going to Rivendell for the food." 

"Rivendell?" Otho repeated, surprised. "Is that where-?" 

"I don't know," the other hobbit admitted. "But it's the only clue that we have." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally back at college. I will try and keep up the once a day update until this is all caught up with the version on FanFiction, but just in case I can't, please be patient with me, okay? Thank you all so much for reading this and please let me know what you think, especially if you see anything wrong or if anyone is being too OOC.


	20. to red dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ringbearer sets off alone, and blood is shed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I'm sorry for not updating last night, and thanks to all of the people who have read/commented on this because you are all awesome! As always, please let me know if anyone is too OOC. Thanks!

Bilbo didn't stop moving until he had reached the boats, his sharp blue-brown eyes easily picking out the thick layer of branches and shrubbery that the Fellowship must have used to hide the Elven ships from prying eyes. He stood for a long moment and simply stared at the badly-hidden vessels, his body still shivering with remembered fear and heartbreak.

_Thorin stared at him, his sapphire eyes cold and dark with the same mists that had fallen across them during the worst moments of his gold sickness. Bilbo could practically **hear** the savage, animalistic growl that was about to spring from the king's lips, his ears ringing with the hissed promises that the Ring had begun to make to the dwarf that he-._

Bilbo shook himself out of the memories, his fingers reaching up to brush instinctively against the chain around his neck. He flinched as if he had been burned and clenched his hand into a tight, trembling fist at his sight.

_That damn Ring… that **damn** , precious Ring!_

"I wish that I had never found this thing," he hissed. "I wish that it had stayed down in the Goblin Tunnels, where it damn well belongs!"

Half-remembered images came to him before the words had fully left his lips, visions of young hobbits bent with grief and exhaustion and a crushing knowledge of the evil that existed beyond the Shire's gentle shelter. He saw Thorin crushed and covered in blood, his features too pale and still to belong to a dwarf filled with such passion and bravery. He imagined the stones that would have covered the tombs of the line of Durin…

Bilbo took a deep, steadying breath and allowed his hand to brush against the Ring once again, his jaw clenched.

No, it was better for him to carry it now, better for all of them. He would carry the Ring, and he would destroy it for the sake of those who would have suffered later. He would bear it for his family, for his dwarves and his friends.

He would bear it… for Thorin.

_I must bear it alone._

The thought was sudden and unbidden, and yet he knew with an abrupt certainty that it was what he had to do. He saw the cold, wicked fire in Thorin's eyes, saw the way the Ring's evil flames would spread to the others until… until…

He shuddered and moved towards the boat that was the closest to the Anduin, silently bemoaning the pack and supplies that he would be leaving behind. True, enough of the lembas bread had been left in the bottom of the boat to last him for a while, his elven cloak was still wrapped around his shoulders, and he hadn't dared to move Sting from the sheath at his waist, but what of a map? What of the clothes that he would be leaving behind?

What of his cousins? What of Aragorn, Illiandur, and Thengel? What of the dwarves, his family?

What of Thorin?

_I cannot just leave them behind… What would I do, alone, in Orc territory? I'd be dead within the week. Even if I did survive, how in Eru's name would I even get into Mordor? By the Valar, Thorin would kill me if he knew what I was thinking-._

_He'll kill me if I stay._

Bilbo bit his lip, his mind going once again to the memory of Thorin's dark, savage features twisted with the magic of the Ring. The Ring had already gotten into Thorin's mind once, it would slither its way in again. Eventually, it would find its way into all of their minds, twisting and manipulating until the entire Fellowship was out for his blood.

They would kill him for the Ring.

The hobbit sighed and started to push more of the branches and leaves away from the boat, silently wondering how he would get the damned thing over to the opposite bank. At least, he thought that he needed to get it to the opposite bank. Bilbo cast his thoughts back to the maps that they had poured over in Erebor so long ago, trying to picture the lines of mountains and sprawling script that had identified Mordor and the Dead Marshes. Yes, the opposite bank was probably the best route if he wanted to go through the Marshes-.

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo flinched but kept himself from turning at the sound of Thorin's voice, his head and shoulders still bent over the half-uncovered boat.

"Bilbo…" The dwarf's footsteps drew closer, then stopped. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," he replied curtly.

"Now?" Eru, Bilbo could practically _see_ the confused expression on the king's face. "I suppose, if you feel you must. We'll have to tell the others, of course. Mahal knows Fíli and Kíli will whine about having to break camp in the middle of the night, but-."

"I'm leaving without the Fellowship," Bilbo interrupted.

The hobbit stealed himself and turned around to face his king, his muscles tensing with a mixture of recalled fear and guilt over the shocked, fearful expression that had suddenly seeped into Thorin's eyes.

"What- Bilbo, no," the dwarf king hissed. "I- if this is about what happened, I am truly sorry. I didn't… I'm sorry, I didn't know that the Ring… that it would affect me… Please, Bilbo, do not leave because of me. I will go back to Lórien instead if you… if it would make you more comfortable."

"I'm not leaving because of you," Bilbo sighed. "Well, not just because of you," he amended. "I understand that the Ring is powerful, I understand how it calls to you. But you barely lasted a minute before it had you in its thrall. How long would any of the others last? How long would your nephews or Dwalin or Dori or Bofur or even Gimli be able to resist this _thing_ if it started to act up again? How long would the Men last, or Legolas? Or my cousins? I can't stay here and wait for you all to fall for it. I can't watch you struggle to resist it when I am the only one who should be carrying this burden. I found it, I brought it up out of the goblin caves, _I'm_ the one who should have to suffer-."

"You do not suffer alone," Thorin interrupted. "Damn you, Halfling, don't you understand that every dwarf here would rather die than see you come to harm? Don't you see how much it kills me to watch your struggles? I want to protect you, Bilbo, and apparently seeing you safely into _Mordor_ is the only way that I can-."

"Oh yes, you've done a fine job of protecting me from yourself!" the hobbit snapped. His anger fell when he saw the hurt, betrayed look on Thorin's face but he remained where he was.

"Thorin," he whispered, his voice noticeably softer. "I am afraid."

"You should not have to be afraid of me," the dwarf growled, his voice raw and broken.

"I'm not," Bilbo insisted. "I am afraid _for_ you. You said that you would rather die than see me hurt- what are you going to do when you wake up one day and find that the Ring has convinced you to kill me? Or… or what if you don't wake up? Aulë, Thorin, I still have nightmares about Gollum, about turning into him… Do not, _do not_ make me dream about finding you twisted into such an evil creature."

The dwarf king was silent for a long moment, his sapphire eyes so vulnerable, angry and pleading that it brought tears into the hobbit's eyes. Finally, Thorin sighed.

"And what of my nightmares?" he murmured. "Do you think that I don't lie awake some nights, afraid to go to sleep for fear that I will see Azog wielding pieces of your bloodied clothing, or Orc weapons stained with your blood?" He took a deep breath and moved forward until they were barely separated, his expression wild in the darkness. "I cannot lose you."

"You won't," Bilbo choked past the sudden lump in his throat. "I'll come back to- I'll come back. I just… need to take a short detour, first."

The dwarf snorted and shook his head with a wry, humorless smile that disappeared almost before Bilbo could register it.

"I will be waiting for you when you destroy the Ring," he swore. "I will stand outside of the gates of Mordor if I need to, but I will see you return from Mount Doom, and I will take you home. And… And when we do return, together, we- if you will have me, I-." Thorin broke off and reached up to play with something at his neck, his shoulders hunched beneath his cloak.

Bilbo stared up at him in awe, his fear and anger all but forgotten.

"Thorin," he breathed through numb lips. "Are you- did you just- you-?"

The dwarf drew a thin strip of leather out from beneath the collar of his shirt, his rough fingers brushing tenderly against the small white bead that hung from it. He removed the bead and its leather cord without moving his eyes from the hobbit's, his jaw clenched. Bilbo simply gaped at him, his eyes going impossibly wide when Thorin reached out with his free hand and gently grasped Bilbo's own, his calloused fingers gently pressing the cool white bead into the former burglar's palm. Up close, Bilbo could see runes carved into the bead's smooth surface, the jagged markings skillfully placed between sprawling vines and tiny half-formed flowers.

"I had hoped to finish it before I gave it to you," Thorin whispered. "But… it can be another promise between us. You can promise to come back to me so that I can finish the bead for you."

"Is this what I think it is?" Bilbo asked faintly, his ears ringing with remembered explanations made by jovial, half-blushing dwarves regarding the process of dwarven courting.

Thorin bobbed his head in a small nod.

"I love you, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and I treasure you more than any riches beneath my mountain," he said solemnly, his voice rough with barely- restrained emotion. "And while I know that I do not deserve you, that I have done things to you that are unforgiveable, I… I would count myself blessed by all the Valar if you would agree to stand by my side as my consort."

Later, Bilbo would find time to be ashamed of the way that he whimpered at Thorin's words. As it was, the dwarf king had barely finished speaking before his arms were full of a trembling hobbit.

"Yes," Bilbo cried, his voice half-muffled by the fabric of Thorin's clothing. "Yes, yes, I- I love you, I love you, too, you daft, stubborn, _idiot_ of a dwarf!"

Thorin choked on a laugh and bent to press a brief, tender kiss to the hobbit's curls.

" _Âkminrûk zu_ ," he gasped. "Thank you. Mahal, thank you."

Bilbo laughed wildly and reached up to meet Thorin's lips with his own, his happiness dying slightly when he remembered why the dwarf had felt the need to propose now in the first place.

"I will see you again," he promised when they had parted. Thorin's bead and the leather cord rested against his chest, their light weight a welcome contrast to the ever-growing burden of the Ring.

The dwarf king's eyes darkened but he nodded, his expression tight.

"I would have followed you into the depths of Mordor," he whispered. "But I will settle for waiting for you at its gates."

Bilbo nodded tightly and allowed himself a few more precious seconds in Thorin's arms before he pulled away and turned back to the boat. He noted with dim surprise that more of the vessel's covering had been cleared away than he had originally thought but quickly pushed the thought away as Thorin helped him clear the last of the leaves and push the boat into the water. Bilbo clambered gracefully into the boat's prow and turned back to look at his dwarf one more time, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Thorin's lips curve with the remnants of a smile.

"Thorin-," he began, only to have the words die in his throat when the savage call of a horn broke through the night, followed closely by the screams and roars of Orcs and Wargs.

Horror replaced joy in the briefest of moments and suddenly Bilbo was thrown back into the bottom of the boat by Thorin's next, desperate shove, his hands already scrabbling for one of the oars. Soft hands pressed a shaft of carved wood into his fingers and he began to desperately row away from the bank, too panicked and shocked to fully register the huddled, tiny figure that sat behind him with their own oar.

He flinched when an arrow flew past his ear and turned at the sound of a familiar dwarven battle cry, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Thorin's back was to him, Orcrist raised defiantly above his head as he charged a particularly-large Orc. The dwarf jolted to a sudden halt, his body crumpling as if it were a shade collapsing in on itself. The king seemed to struggle to his feet, only to collapse with a sudden, painful jerk into the sand, his free arm clutching desperately at the twin arrow shafts that were stuck in his chest.

Bilbo's heart stopped, and he screamed.

*---*---*---*

The princes of Erebor were on their feet before the sound of the horn had fully faded from the air, their weapons unsheathed and gleaming in the flickering light of the campfire moments after Legolas's bow was drawn and Aragorn's sword released form its sheath.

Dori was quick to follow them, his heart nearly breaking in fear when he saw Adamant scramble to her feet beside Primula, their small swords quivering in nervous, untrained hands as they stared around them with wide-eyed fear. The dwarf stepped in front of them without a second thought, his head in a brief, approving nod when Dwalin did the same. In fact, if he looked closely, it seemed that Bofur and Fíli had formed an additional line in defense of the hobbits.

Swords and mattock sliced through the Orcs before the creatures could even lay eyes on the children of the Shire. Dori snarled when the first Orc broke through Fíli and Bofur's line, his sword cutting into the creature's unguarded abdomen just as Dwalin's ax smashed against its skull. The dwarves parted for a brief moment to take care of two other orcs that were approaching them before falling back into a tight line before the hobbits. Out of the corner of his eye, Dori saw Kíli and Illiandur smashing their way through a second crowd of Orcs, their movements followed closely by a snarling Thengel. Gimli and Aragorn had moved closer to the fire, their weapons a gleaming, deadly wall between the Orcs and the elf that was calmly firing arrows into any creature that came within his range.

The number of Orcs dwindled quickly, their numbers cut down almost before they could set foot into the camp of the Fellowship. Halfway through his seventh kill, Dori dared to think that they were winning.

Then Thorin's battle cry rose above the trees, and everything went to hell.

Fíli, Kíli, and Primula broke away and ran towards the cry before anyone could stop them, followed closely by Illiandur and Aragorn. Dori grabbed his niece before she could run after her friend and nearly tossed her into Bofur and Gimli before running after Dwalin, his thoughts flying between fear for his king and worry for the small creature that Thorin had left the camp to pursue.

He heard the scream before he reached the first of the Orcs, his pulse pounding with the energizing fear of battle. The eldest son of Ri threw himself into the skirmish and frantically began to fight his way towards the front of the Orcish line, not even stopping to care about whether or not anyone else was covering his back. Nori had always watched over him, Ori had always cared for his wounds, and now, thanks to these creatures, they were gone.

He staggered into the water in pursuit of an Orc that had waded into the Anduin, his eyes resting for a brief moment on the shadow of a ship that was swiftly pulling away, the air around it shrill with the frantic screams of a halfling.

_Bilbo…_

Dwalin and Fíli screamed behind him and Dori turned, his heart falling when he saw the crumpled, unmoving form of their king in the sand, his fingers limp around Orcrist's gleaming hilt. Dori added his own howl to the dwarves' rising screams of fear and fury, his sword already raised to slice through the torso of yet another gigantic Orc that had leapt into the fray.

Something slammed into his chest and he staggered, his ribs and abdomen screaming, burning with sudden pain. Red flooded his vision and he raised his eyes to the Orc that loomed over him, its bloody blade raised to deliver another blow. Another scream slammed into his ears, a scream that he shouldn't have recognized for he had prayed that he would never hear it.

_Addy… Mahal, no, not her-._

The Orc roared in something that the dwarf might once have recognized as pain and reached down. Dori choked as the creatures rough, slick hands crushed his throat, his stomach throbbing from the sudden movement.

He didn't cry out when the creature threw him, his eyes closing as if to blot out the shadows that had already begun to fall across his eyes as the world flew by. His body slammed into the water and he heard more cries, screams that he had never hoped to hear again in this life time.

_Nori… Ori_ , he thought moments before burning liquid flooded through his lungs and pulled him further into the shadows. _I'm coming… I'll be with you soon._

Dori smiled and finally allowed himself to slip away, his spirit singing within him at the thought of meeting his brothers in Mandos' halls.

_It is so peaceful… Death…_

Somewhere in the distance, a red sun began to rise.


	21. as separate paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected allies are found

Bilbo didn't realize that he was still screaming until small hands yanked him back into the bottom of the boat. The breath flew out of his lungs, leaving him gasping and choking as shadows danced across his eyes. He felt the boat swerve sideways beneath his heaving body and heard a muffled, high-pitched voice swear. Something banged into the side of the boat and Bilbo struggled to raise his head, his eyes no longer blinded by darkness. He could only see Thorin, now: Thorin's form folding around the arrow that had pierced his skin, his small, sad smile as he prepared to say good-bye, his body falling onto the sand as Orcrist tumbled from his grip…

"Bilbo!" Lobelia's voice gasped. "Bilbo, please, I can't do this by myself."

Bilbo started at the sound of the hobbit's voice and stared up at the figure that still sat upright in the boat, her small arms straining to push the Elven oars through the water around them. He blinked slowly, his eyes widening as images of Thorin faded and were replaced with Lobelia's pale, frightened face, her brown eyes flashing with a determined fire in the tainted light of the moon.

"Lo-," he croaked.

"Help me, you blasted hobbit!" she gasped. "I can't very well row this thing on my own."

And suddenly he was moving again, his hands curling automatically around the smooth handle of his own oar. He began to move, his mind numb and filled only with the burning of his muscles and the sounds of running water and the screams of… of…

"Don't you stop now," Lobelia snapped when he began to slow. "Don't you dare stop now, Bilbo Baggins. We need to make it to the other bank, don't we? That's where you want to go, isn't it?"

"Yes," he whispered through unmoving lips.

"Well, we're not there yet," she huffed. "So keep rowing!"

He bowed his head and rowed again, trying not to focus on the screams that had begun to fade behind them, on the cries that had risen in their wake, on the weight of the cool bead at his neck…

Lobelia growled behind him and suddenly he was facing her, his nose nearly pressed against her own as the hobbit woman's eyes glared into his. This close, he could see the fear that she was trying to hide, the faint tracks of tears that were still making their uneven way across her pale, dirt-encrusted cheeks.

"You can't give up now," she hissed. "You can't. He wouldn't want you to give up, would he?"

"He's dead," Bilbo croaked, and now it was done, he had spoken the words and, Eru, there was no taking them back because it was true and he would never see his king again-.

"I don't believe that," Lobelia insisted fiercely. "And neither should you. He's survived worse, hasn't he? He's a _dwarf_ , for Eru's sake! They can survive anything."

"Not anything," Bilbo whispered, because Ori and Nori had already fallen and somehow, in some other future, Thorin was supposed to fall as well. What was to stop him from falling in now?

A hand smacked against his cheek with surprising strength and Bilbo reeled back, his eyes widening once more. Lobelia glared down at him, only to flinch when an Orc arrow flew over their heads and splashed into the water beside them.

"You can't give up hope now, Bilbo," she begged. "Please."

Bilbo stared up at her for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, his fingers tightening reflexively around the oar that still rested in his hands. He turned away and started to row once more, no longer focusing on the burning in his muscles or the silent, miserable despair that continued to seep into his brain. He heard Lobelia sigh with something like relief and forced himself to keep facing ahead, his eyes locked only on the shadows of the opposite bank, and the unknown darkness that lay beyond them.

*---*---*---*

Adamant had started to run the minute Bilbo's muted screams reached her through the trees, her ears deaf to the cries of protest that Bofur and Gimli raised in response before they began to run after her with Thengel and Legolas at their heels. Her fingers tightened painfully around the unfamiliar blade in her hand but she refused to loosen her grip, her heart pounding with pure, unadulterated fear.

_Is this what battle feels like, mum? Is this what you felt? Da always said that you were brave…_

She burst through the last of the trees and nearly ran straight into the legs of a waiting Orc. The creature looked down at her with a snarl and started to raise its blade, only to stop and cock its head to the side in a manner that would have been called thoughtful in any other being. It said something, its words garbled and cruel and wrong, somehow. Adamant resisted the urge to cover her ears and shakily raised her sword into the defensive position that the elves had taught her so long ago. The creature seemed to laugh in response and moved as if to attack her, only to be thrown to the ground before it could take a step.

Adamant stumbled back with a startled yelp and glanced over at the dwarf that had slipped between her and her adversary, her eyes lingering for far too long on the fresh splatters of black blood that now coated Bofur's mattock. The toy maker stared back at her, his normally-cheerful features dark with a wild sort of solemnity. She swallowed heavily and made as if to thank him, only to have the words die in her throat when she heard Dori's voice rise above the sounds of battle in a pained yell.

The half-hobbit whirled in the direction of her uncle's voice and started to run, only to fall back into Bofur's chest as his strong arms wrapped around her waist. She watched Dori fall back into the Anduin, her ears ringing with shrill, piercing screams. It took her a long moment to realize that the screams were her own. She lashed out wildly with legs and sword, not even bothering to feel guilt at the pained grunt Bofur uttered before he let her go. Her feet pounded against the blood-soaked sand, eyes locked only on the unprotected back of the Orc that had struck her uncle and now stood, its blade raised to deliver another blow.

Her sword disappeared into the creature's lower back, its gleaming silver blade cutting through calloused black skin as if it were made of butter. The Orc howled and Adamant instinctively stumbled back, her feet slipping on the moss-covered stones at the bottom of the riverbed. The Orc bent suddenly and lifted Dori out of the water, its thick fingers curling around the spluttering dwarf's throat. Adamant screamed again and tried to attack the Orc, only to be knocked aside by the creature's free arm. She fell into the water with a gasp, her arms flailing in a terrified, instinctive desire to find something, anything to grip onto, anything that would keep her afloat and keep the water from flooding into her lungs.

She heard another splash and looked up in time to see Dori's body disappear beneath the surface of the Anduin. A low cry of despair ripped from her throat, only to fade beneath the loud, furious screams that rose behind her moments before a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her free of the river's grip. Adamant slumped in the warm, familiar arms of her oldest friend and looked up to meet Primula's frightened, tear-filled eyes before glancing back at what was left of the battle. Her eyes locked on the two unfamiliar forms that seemed to have appeared from the trees like spirits, their weapons glinting wickedly in the darkness as they struck down every Orc in their path. Out of the corner of her eye, Adamant noticed that both Dwalin and Bofur had frozen where they stood, their mouthes gaping open in obvious shock as they watched the new arrivals make their way towards the Anduin.

Aragorn was already in the water, his dark head barely visible above the bloody silver currents as he swam towards the place where Dori had disappeared. Adamant held her breath when the Ranger disappeared beneath the surface, her shoulders heaving with an unrestrained sob of relief and fear when Aragorn reappeared moments later, his arms wrapped around a small, white-haired burden. She felt Primula's grasp loosen and surged forward to meet the Man at the bank, only to have her steps falter when her way was barred by the two strangers.

This close, it was almost painfully obvious that they were dwarves. One of them, a dwarf with auburn hair arranged in an odd, starlike shape was almost as tall as Bofur, while the other would probably match up to Fíli's height if they stood beside each other. Both had somehow managed to put away their weapons, although Adamant didn't doubt that the blades would reappear the moment Aragorn refused to hand over Dori's limp body.

The knowledge gave her courage and she hurried forward once again, her fingers still clenched around the sword in her hand. She skidded to a halt at Aragorn's side when the Ranger finally set foot on the banks, her eyes flickering warily to the two unknown dwarves that were now scowling at the Man with desperate anger.

"Is he alright?" the shorter one demanded, his voice unusually-high for a dwarf.

Aragorn only shook his head, his expression too dark and solemn to give Adamant comfort. He stepped past the dwarves and moved closer to the treeline, his steps faltering when he saw the small group that had already gathered around Thorin's prone form.

"Does he live?" he called.

"H-He's alive," Fíli replied roughly. "Dori?"

The Ranger bent and gently laid Dori onto the sand. "…He isn't breathing."

The dwarf with the star-shaped hair cried out in wordless grief and ran to Dori's side, his every move shadowed by the grief-stricken dwarf at his side. They fell to their knees beside the older dwarf, their faces hidden by the shadows that were slowly fading away in the rising light of dawn. Adamant ran after them, only to stumble to a halt when the star-haired dwarf turned and fixed her with a red-eyed glare.

"Stay back," he growled.

"I need to see him," she snapped, her voice shaking despite her best effort. "Please-."

"Leave us _alone_ ," the dwarf yelled, his hand suddenly curled around the bloodied hilt of a knife.

" _Nori_ ," the other dwarf hissed, his own features crumpled with grief and stained by the tears that continued to leak from his eyes.

"I can help him!" Adamant screamed. She shoved past the dwarf without another word and collapsed onto the sand by Dori's side, her eyes flickering frantically across his body for any sign of an open wound.

"He's not bleeding," Aragorn told her quietly. "Whatever injury he sustained, it was internal."

The half-hobbit nodded sitffly and glanced over her shoulder towards Primula, her shoulders slumping in weary relief when she saw that her friend was already hurrying towards her side.

"Prim, do you remember-," she began.

"Yes, move," the hobbit bit out. Primula Brandybuck shoved her friend away and bent over the prone dwarf, her dark hair falling across her face to hide them both from view.

Adamant scrambled over to Dori's other side, completely ignoring the dumbstruck dwarves and men that had gathered around them in a loose circle. She watched Primula blow air into the dwarf's lungs and press her hands against Dori's chest, her own arms itching to lend their strength to the effort.

Seconds passsed like an eternity, and Adamant found suddenly that she couldn't breathe. How could she breathe when Dori's chest was so still? What would happen if he didn't wake up, if she had to watch another family member die before her eyes because she was too weak, too useless to save them-.

The snowy-haired dwarf coughed suddenly and began to wretch, his chest heaving with the effort of expelling the water that had gathered in his lungs. Primula pulled away from him and motioned for Adamant to help her prop him up, her sharp eyes watching the dwarf carefully in case she needed to do more. Finally, Dori stilled, his chest rising and falling in shallow, cautious breaths. The dwarf blinked slowly and glanced up at the hobbits that still hovered by his head, his lips curling into a small, exhausted smile at the sight.

"Addy…" he rasped. "Thank Mahal…"

A low shout rose up from the other dwarves and suddenly the two unknown dwarves were there, their arms brushing roughly against Primula and Adamant's shoulders.

"Dori," the star-haired one gasped. "You- Just- Dori."

The other dwarf could only sob, his mittened hands brushing carefully, desperately across Dori's face.

Dori stared up at them both, his features so pale that Primula and Adamant both inched closer with concern. The older dwarf didn't seem to notice them anymore, his hands rising to clasp the shoulders of the two dwarves in front of him with what little remained of his strength.

"Nori… Ori…" he gasped. "But… how… you can't be here, you can't be!"

The star-haired one chuckled thickly. "Surprise, brother."

With a low, wordless cry Dori pushed himself up into a sitting position, his features contorted with silent pain. The two dwarves bent to meet him, their arms wrapping around him with a gentleness that took Adamant's breath away. She felt Primula drag her back to give the trio some space and glanced up at the other observers for an explanation.

Dwalin and Bofur stared back at her, looking as lost as she felt. And yet there was a certain amount of knowledge in their red-rimmed eyes that she felt she was missing, a mixture of disbelief and rising, painful joy that cut her to the quick. Fíli and Kíli were watching them with tempered joy from their place beside Thorin, their eyes flickering back to the wounded dwarf king every second or so with obvious worry. Thengel and Illiandur simply looked lost, while Gimli had chosen to stand by Legolas' side as the elf went to Thorin to see what he could do.

Aragorn looked down at her with a small, weary smile before looking back across the Anduin, his eyes locked on the blurred outline of a boat that was slowly making its way onto the opposite bank.

"Bilbo is heading for the Dead Marshes, it seems," he murmured.

"And Lobelia," Primula gasped. "She- Lobelia must have gone with Bilbo during the fight. I haven't seen her since the… since Thorin…" She trailed off and glanced over at the place where Thorin still lay unmoving on the bloody sand.

"…Adamant."

Adamant looked back at the sound of her name and met Dori's grey-brown eyes with a cautious gaze. The older dwarf had managed to slump against a nearby tree trunk, his eyes still clouded with pain despite the wide smile that rested on his lips. The two dwarves hovered next to him, their expressions all but unreadable as they stared at the half-hobbit. Adamant ignored them as best she could and hurried to Dori's side, her numb fingers finally releasing her blade so that they could wrap around her uncle's cold, calloused hand. Dori smiled up at her weakly.

"My dear girl…" he whispered hoarsely. "I must introduce you… Only I'm so happy that you're safe… You screamed…"

"I did?" she mused. She swallowed and felt the raw burning in her throat, her cheeks flushed with sudden embarrassment. "Ah, I… I might have screamed a little when I… that Orc…"

"Oh, you should have seen her attack that Orc!" Primula piped up cheerfully. "She ran straight at him and rammed her sword into its back before it could hit you. I saw the whole thing," the Brandybuck added.

Under any other circumstances, Adamant probably would have laughed at the horrified, awe-struck stares that Dori, Dwalin, and Fíli were now sending her way. As it was she could barely meet Dori's eyes again before she ducked her head, her cheeks a brilliant red in the sunlight. She glanced up in surprise when she felt Dori chuckle weakly.

"Mahal, but you're your mother's child," he muttered. "Vestri always was a demon with a weapon…"

"Dori?" the star-haired dwarf asked cautiously, his brown eyes flickering between Adamant and Dori with rising worry and confusion.

"Ah, right… Nori, Ori, may I introduce our niece, Adamant Vestri Took. Addy, dear, this is Nori, and that quiet one beside him is Ori. They-."

"B-but, the elves," Adamant whispered, her eyes now locked on the two dwarves that were now staring down at her as if they couldn't quite believe their eyes. "T-They said… they said that they were…"

"W-We ran into a f-f-few problems with some Orcs," the shorter dwarf (Ori?) told her. "But I can assure you that we are both very much alive."

Somewhere nearby, Dwalin made a low, choked sound that could almost be called a sob. Adamant turned to look at him, only to find that the warrior had turned away, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side. Bofur didn't say a word, his own eyes resting on Nori with a soft sort of relief.

A hand touched her shoulder and the star-haired dwarf knelt in front of her, his brown eyes sharp as he looked her over. Suddenly he smiled, his teeth half-hidden by the thick brown braids of his beard and mustache.

"Thank Mahal you didn't get the family nose," he muttered.

Adamant smiled shyly.

"T-That's what Uncle Dori said," she whispered.

"Oh, I don' know," Bofur called casually. "If ya ask me, I think it's an adorable nose, if you've got the face for it."

"Oh, stuff it, Bofur," Nori grumbled, his cheeks flushed with the faintest hint of pink beneath his beard.

Adamant's smile widened, only to falter slightly when she glanced over at her third uncle, who was still watching her with a dazed, shocked look in his eyes. He seemed to shake himself beneath her gaze and offered her a small smile in return.

"I… don't suppose you know how to knit?" he asked quietly.

Adamant nodded. "Although, I don't think you want to wear anything that I make. I managed to make a glove into a sock, once."

"She did," Primula agreed.

Ori's smile widened and he made to speak, only to stop when a low, painful groan reached them from further down the bank.

Dwalin was running to Thorin's side before Adamant could even blink, his stormy expression clearing for a brief moment into a concern.

"Is he alright?" the warrior demanded.

Fíli and Kíli shrugged and glanced towards Legolas, their fingers twined in a grip that almost looked painful. The elf offered them a tight smile and bent to press his fingers against the wounds on Thorin's chest. Adamant gulped and forced herself to keep looking, ignoring the way her stomach rolled at the sight of the bloody arrows that had been tossed onto the sand near Thorin's body.

"He will recover," the elf conceded. "Although I fear that he needs to be given over to a healer soon if he is to avoid infection."

"There aren't any villages around for miles, let alone a city that would have an adequate healer," Aragorn muttered. "Travel would be too slow on foot for a healer to be of any help, and we have no horses-."

"We have rabbits," Nori broke in. "Radagast leant them to us so that we could get here."

"Radagast?" Dwalin repeated. "That blasted- how did ye meet him?"

"He saved my life," Ori explained quietly. "We met him in Fangorn forest."

Dwalin stiffened at the sound of Ori's voice and nodded.

"Will the sled carry Thorin?" he asked.

"It carried both of us," Nori mused.

"Will it carry a dwarf and a man?" Thengel asked quietly. He smiled thinly at the incredulous looks that the rest of the Fellowship sent his way, his fingers plucking anxiously at the clasp of his cloak. "I will take him to Edoras- there are healers there, good ones."

"No," Fíli and Kíli snapped above the objections of several of the other dwarves.

Thengel frowned.

"I am your best chance of getting into a city or town of Rohan," he argued. "Anyone else will be viewed with suspicion at best or killed before they could offer an explanation. I know that you don't trust me, but we have no other options. Thorin doesn't have much time."

The dwarven princes blanched at that and exchanged calculating looks, their eyebrows rising and falling in silent conversation. After a few moments, the brothers nodded, their expressions grim.

"Take him," Fíli murmured. "And know that we will make your life a living hell if you allow any harm to come to him."

Thengel offered the princes a low bow, his lips quirked into a dry smirk. "I give you my word."

"What about Dori?" Ori demanded. "Or the rest of us? What are we supposed to do while you run off to Rohan?"

"What about Bilbo and Lobelia?" Primula added.

The Fellowship turned as one to the small boat that had already been abandoned on the opposite bank, their eyes searching the dark shadows of distant undergrowth for any sign of the two missing hobbits. Aragorn was the first to speak.

"If they left to flee the Orcs, perhaps some of us should go after him to bring him back, or-."

"No," Bofur interrupted, his voice unusually firm. The toymaker waited until all of the others had turned to look at him before he spoke again. "Bilbo wouldn't have left Thorin to face a horde of Orcs by himself, and there wasn't enough time before we got here for him ta clear off all of the cover launch the boat into the water, even with Lobelia's help. He must have been plannin' ta leave on his own before the Orcs came."

"But… Why?" Primula whimpered, her eyes wide and dark with hurt.

Bofur smiled down at her with gentle bitterness.

"Ye weren't there ta see the worst of the gold sickness, lass," he murmured. "Bilbo was. Honestly, I'm surprised it's taken him this long to realize that we can't go with him."

"What are you talkin' about?" Gimli demanded fiercely. "We can handle Mordor- we can handle anything!"

"We can't handle greed," Bofur argued. "Or power. And tha's what the Ring is, isn't it? Power and greed. It took Thorin for a few moments, how much longer would it have taken for him ta be taken by it for good? And what about the rest of us? Bilbo is the only one who's strong enough ta handle that Ring. Anyone else would just be slowin' him down."

"What about Lobelia, then?" Primula insisted.

This time, the toymaker's smile was real.

"Well, now, even a clever little bloke like Bilbo needs a bit of a push now and again," he mused. "And I pity the fool that tries to cross Mistress Sackeville-Baggins."

That earned a laugh from the hobbits and a few of the dwarves, although Adamant noted that Nori and Ori continued to frown with confusion and concern.

"What about Dori, then?" Nori demanded. "Shouldn't he see a healer, too?"

"Oh, for Mahal's sake, Nori, I'm fine," Dori griped.

"I will send horses for all of you once I reach Edoras," Thengel assured them.

"We can't just sit here," Illiandur objected. "Those Orcs knew our position. More will come after them, and I'm not convinced that we could beat them back a second time."

"It won't be much better in the Wold," Thengel argued. "There is no where to hide out there- the Orcs would see you from a mile away."

"What about Fangorn?" Ori asked. "If we could make it to the forest, we would have somewhere to hide until the horses could come for us."

"Fangorn is filled with old magic," Legolas murmured. "I'm not fond of the idea of entering it."

"It's not that bad," Nori scoffed. "A bit full of trees for my liking, but the Ents are nice enough, and Radagast might be able to offer us some help- actually, he could probably help both Thorin and Dori, now that I think of it."

Long moments passed as the Fellowship considered each other, their expressions clouded and conflicted with individual ideas and desires. Adamant sighed heavily and scrambled to her feet, her fists pressed against her hips with a determination that she didn't feel as all eyes turned to her.

"Thorin's wounds are the most serious, so he should be helped first," she decided. "Uncle Nori, how long did it take the two of you to reach us with those… rabbits?"

"Half a day," he answered quickly. "Although it took us close to three on foot."

She nodded. "And Master Thengel, how long would it take for you to reach Edoras?"

"It is a three to four day journey on horseback," the Man of Rohan replied. "Although I have no idea how long it would take by rabbit."

She nodded again. "In the interest of time, then, I feel that it would be best to take Thorin to this Radagast in Fangorn. Uncle Nori or Uncle Ori could take him since they know the way, while the rest of us follow on foot. Once Thorin has been handed over to Radagast, whoever has taken him could come back and collect Uncle Dori as well so that he can be cared for."

"I'm telling you, I'm fine," Dori grumbled.

The others ignored him and began to nod. Thengel, Adamant noted, seemed noticeably relieved by the idea.

"Well, I'm all for it," the Man of Rohan announced. "Who gets the honor of riding in the bunny sled?"


End file.
